


When Harry Met Louis

by taking_sweet_time



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Relationships, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Leeds - Freeform, London, M/M, One Direction Tours, Pining, Post-The X Factor Era, Pre-The X Factor Era, Realistic, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Harry, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, The X Factor Bungalow, The X Factor Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:04:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 246,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taking_sweet_time/pseuds/taking_sweet_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis are two average lads with one incredible dream. When they are brought together by what seems to be a decision of fate, it appears that all of their wildest hopes have turned into reality, and before they know it, they're living their dream together along wih three other boys.  Harry and Louis instantly hit it off, and a friendship more valuable than any other is formed. As Harry  grows closer and closer to Louis, however, his feelings begin to change. What, out of the endless possibilities, will happen when Harry meets Louis?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work my friend Sadie wrote before she passed away of leukaemia over a year ago. She and her friend Claire gave me the rights to post her works here; let it be known that all credit goes to the original author, whose personal account may be found here: http://www.wattpad.com/user/Livvi57

**In the Year of 2002**

 

_Bounce._  

Harry hated his parents.  

_Bounce._  

He’d never forgive them.  

_Bounce._  

Not in a thousand years.

_Bounce._  

What they’d done was inexcusable.  

_Bounce._  

Unforgivable.  

_Bounce.  Bounce.  Bounce._  

Clenching his teeth, he slammed the faded, lifeless football against the deteriorating maroon brick, hoping that maybe, if he kicked hard enough and grew angry enough, he might just kick the ball right through it, sending small, rust-colored bits of rock flying and whizzing around his feet.  He glared at the unpleasant shade of red through narrowed eyes, his jaw set as the ball bounced off the rough, cracked surface for what must have been the billionth time. 

Despite his endless protestations and claims that his life would be over once he crossed the threshold, they had buckled him into his booster seat and driven nearly two hundred and fifty miles from Harry’s home and safe haven, Eastbourne, to this hell of a town.  He had known he would hate the place before he had even arrived, and once he did, it only seemed to make matters worse.  He had struggled with the strap of his seat belt, scrambled out of the car, and plopped down in the grimy dirt and dust before gazing around, furrowing his blonde eyebrows, and asking,  _Where’s my beach?_

Harry had practically lived at the beach in Eastbourne.  Where had he taken his first steps?  Where had he finally let out a bubbly giggle, jabbed a finger in the direction of their small, red house, and hiccuped his first word, “Cat?”  Where had his father, someone he had not seen in over a year, taught him how to spell his name, his stubby, peachy little finger trembling as he carved an ‘H’ into the sand?  The majority of his childhood belonged to that familiar, beautiful beach, and now, they were leaving it behind as simply as one would toss a piece of rubbish into the waste bin. 

His rosy lips puckered with disapproval as his mother explained gently that here, there was no beach; that they would have to travel nearly fifty miles to visit the ocean.  

_Things are going to be different,_ she had said, her hand on the young child’s shoulder.  

_But I don’t want things to change,_  he’d insisted, folding his gangly arms tightly across his chest and stomping his foot.  

_Now, Harry, it’s not about you, is it?_  His stepfather had scolded him sharply.  Small, salty tears welling in his eyes, and, his lower lip jutting out in a severe pout, he had fled for the car, kicking up dirt and dust as he did so, and clambered back into his seat, buckling the belt himself.  

_Turn around,_ he had requested firmly.   _I want to go back home._

Now, here he stood, weakly nudging the old , deflated football and watching with grim satisfaction as it pounded into the ugly, brick wall.  Ever since his stepfather had driven him past that road sign, that sign that had changed everything, his life had never been the same.  He may have been young, but Harry knew what happiness was, having experienced it in the sandy beaches of Eastbourne, and he knew that it hadn’t followed him to this wreck of a town. 

He hated that brick.  He hated every brick in the wall.  He hated every wall in the house.  He  _hated_  that house.  He hated it more than he hated his inconsiderate, disrespectful parents, who had decided that he, Harry, would be living in that house for the next ten years of his life.  They knew Harry hated it, knew he loathed that house with every fiber of his small, eight-year-old body. 

A sob rising in his throat, he sat down cross-legged on his dried, yellow lawn, even uglier, perhaps, than the brick wall.  He put his blonde head in his hands and began to cry.  Life was surely taking a turn for the worst in this nightmare; this lonely, unheard of, unseen hell of a town. 

Holmes Chapel.

 

 


	2. Misery

**Eight Years Later**

 

Today would be the day, Harry thought.  It had been eight years since he had been relocated in that terrible, repulsive brick house and his life had become a living hell.  It had been ninety-six months of absolute misery; four hundred and sixteen weeks of unhappiness.  Now, two thousand nine hundred and twenty-two days later, he was finally breaking free, making his escape.  He was leaving that nightmarish hellhole, that terrible life he led in the house with the red bricks.  

A sense of dawning nirvana was falling steadily across his shoulders, very gently waiting to envelope his entire body, his mind, his soul, and lead him to a better life.  Harry never in a thousand years would have ever assumed that his form of escape would lie within the most unlikely of places; a television studio. 

“You—you’re ready, then?” his mother asked shakily as she placed her aging hands on either side of his face.  What eight years ago had been a pair of soft, peachy cheeks were now strong, bony, dominating assets of his maturing profile.  Harry had changed indescribably from the young boy he had been when he had arrived in Holmes Chapel.  Eight years later, he had morphed from a naïve, cheeky toddler into a tall, young man, charisma replacing his chattiness and his curiosity turning into charm. 

“Yes, mum,” he groaned quietly, keeping his deep, husky voice low in order to keep peace among the dark, shadowy wings of the studio. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, jerking him forward into her grasp and wrapping her sun-kissed arms around his lanky neck.  

“I know, mum, it’s only the tenth time you’ve told me,” he muttered, his dimpled cheeks flushing a pale shade of pink in the darkness of the wings.  His personality was not the only thing that had changed over the years; throughout his time in Holmes Chapel, his stick-straight blonde hair had transformed drastically.  The straw-colored pigment of his smooth, thin locks had slowly darkened to a soft, chocolate brown, and in the process they had grown into lush, voluminous curls.  Some things never changed, however, such as the everlasting dimples denting the skin on either side of his rosy lips; or the shockingly bold green of his irises, always framed by long, ash-brown lashes; or the cheeky grin he wore whenever he spoke to a friend…Or a member of the opposite sex…

Sniffling, she released him, forcing a watery smile onto her lips and watching affectionately as he adjusted his scarf nervously around his neck, his rosy lips jutting forward and his dark eyebrows furrowing as they always did when he was focused. 

“Excuse me, Harry?” the young host of  _The X Factor_ , clad in a casual tie and trousers, tapped him on the shoulder.  Harry turned, looking around.  Immediately, his eyes fell on the object held in the host’s strong hand.  “You’re up.  Good luck out there.  This,” he said, holding out the object.  “Is for you.” 

Harry swallowed, blinking quickly and taking a ragged, shallow breath before taking the smooth microphone and cradling it carefully in his own hands.  It felt as if he was an artist and he had just been handed his paintbrush.  Would this be the first of many times he held this microphone, or would it be the last? 

“Knock ‘em dead,” his mother said, her voice choked with tears as hugged him once again before pushing him gently towards the stage. 

“I will,” he said lightly, turning to give her another sheepish smile, his lips pursed, before gulping, his throat clenching tightly beneath the muscles of his neck, and striding forward and up the small set of steps to the stage.  His heart rocketed in his chest, causing a deafening pounding to reverberate in his ears.  He could barely hear the roar of the crowd as he walked quickly across the bright, colorful floor, illuminated by spotlights.  He kept his eyes focused on his feet as he walked to the centre; he did not want to have to face the audience any sooner than necessary. 

Finally looking up, his heart skipped a beat as the full realization of his surroundings pressed down on him.  His breath caught in his chest as he gazed around at the thousands of people looking up at him, waiting for  _him_  to perform.  Had he ever had that feeling before?  Harry didn’t think so.  It had never seemed like anyone was listening, before.  He was always fighting for attention, and giving up when he never won it over.  But this…This was something else.  The lights burned into his eyes and the constant scream of the crowd made everything seem like a very surreal dream. 

How long had he been waiting for this moment? Was this it, he wondered, a strange blend of elation and terror coursing roughly through his veins as he observed his welcome with bright eyes.  Was this where his life would take the turn he had been anticipating for eight years?  This is happening  _now,_  he realized.  As if someone else had him on strings like a marionette, he discovered with mild surprise that his mouth had opened, and he had begun to speak. 

“Hello,” he said, his voice sounding unexpectedly calm, as opposed to the calamity occurring in his mind.   _Hello._   That first word, that first sound—the beginning of the rest of his life. 

 

⤞✧⤝

 

“Promise you’ll be good, little one.” 

Harry felt the slender fingers of a small, soft hand run through his carefully arranged mess of curls, and almost immediately he went into defense mode.   _No one,_  he thought,  _touches these curls._

“Oi!” he exclaimed, rising from his spot on the rug and spinning around to face the brave soul who had the stupidity to mess with his hair.  “Oh.  It’s just you,” his shoulders slumped with boredom as he caught sight of his older sister leaning in his doorway, hand outstretched as she patted his hair back into place. 

“Better?” she asked sweetly, shooting him a sarcastic simper. 

“Oh, yeah, loads,” he rolled his eyes, turning away again and stooping to continue packing his things.  He had had enough of his sister’s taunts; whether they revolved around his “childish” excitement over getting through his auditions, or his tragic mistake of wearing a scarf on national television. 

“Hey, I never said tragic,” she said, a smirk playing at her lips as she cocked an eyebrow.  Harry frowned, his own eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“When did you learn to mind read?” he muttered, carefully folding his favourite shirt in half and rolling it up tightly before settling it into the corner of his duffel bag. 

“Oh, I dunno, about the same time you started thinking  _out loud._ ” She chuckled, and Harry turned beat red.  He had forgotten about that nasty habit of his; when he was deep in thought, the things whizzing around his mind often made themselves audible.  It wasn’t a very helpful attribute when one had people like Gemma around, who practically survived on drama and gossip.  Harry had had one too many relationships spoiled by things Gemma had heard from his unfaithful lips, which seemed to have a mind of their own. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, sealing his toothpaste into a Ziploc and sliding it into the outside pocket of his bag, along with his vital travel bottle of anti-frizz hair spray and his bubblegum-flavoured dental floss.  Narrowing his eyes slightly in thoughtfulness, he decided that this would be one pocket that none of the other contestants would know about.  Yes, that seems safe, he thought. 

“Aw, does little Harry need his special spray to scare all the frizzies away?” Gemma cooed, smiling wickedly as she rumpled Harry’s hair yet again. 

“You wanna keep that hand, Gem?” he asked coolly.  Snickering, she withdrew it, popping her hip and sliding down onto the floor beside Harry.  He didn’t have time to deal with his sister at the moment; he was far too busy packing…And dwelling on what was to come…

“Well, don’t let me interrupt your dwelling.” Gemma smirked, and Harry, teeth clenched, mentally kicked himself.  He really needed to stop doing that…“Yeah, you do.  Might want to get professional help.”  Harry groaned loudly. 

“Gemma, can I  _help_ you with anything?  I’m a bit preoccupied here.” 

“I know, I could tell by your  _thoughts._ ” 

“Would you just shut up?” he rolled his eyes, resolutely turning his back on her and pursing his lips as crammed a folded pair of boxers into the bag beside his shirt. 

“Not until I say what I’ve come to say!  I’m not about to let my baby brother run off to the big scary music producers without a word of sisterly advice.”  Harry rolled his eyes for what must have been the tenth time in the five minutes he had been speaking to Gemma. 

“Seriously, Gemma, I’m busy.  Out.”  Her smirk dropped and her shoulders slumped as she pierced him with an irritated glare.  Uh-oh, Harry thought,  female teenage rage coming on.  Alarms began going off in his head.  In the past eight years he had lived in Holmes Chapel with the population of stuck-up pageant girls trying desperately to look as though they were fresh from London or Los Angeles, he had learned to never under-estimate the wrath of an angry woman, especially one Gemma’s age. 

“C’mon, Hazza, I’m trying to share a sentimental moment here and you’re kind of ruining it.” She said flatly, her eyes narrowing.  Harry sighed. 

He had been avoiding his older sister lately, and not simply because she was an obnoxious, girly teen.  Well, all right, that had definitely been part of it, but if he was being honest with himself, he was truly avoiding her because he was not eager to get around to the whole mushy issue of farewells.  It wasn’t as if Harry didn’t want to share a family moment with her; in fact he was very jealous of those families who communicated so easily and experienced those moments every day.  But when it came to Harry and Gem’s relationship…Well, a very strong sibling rivalry existed there, and most of their conversations consisted of teasing insults and, alright, occasionally hurtful ones.  The fact remained that, because of this, Harry found it extremely difficult to share, well, a  _pleasant_  moment with his sister.  He honestly could not remember the last time he told her he loved her, but that was one of the things he liked about their relationship.  While he was constantly accusing her of being a stuck-up, sassy prat and she was busy telling him to check himself into an asylum for the rest of eternity, they both knew that, despite their bickering, they loved each other.  It was something that did not have to be said, so it never was.  Now, however, at times like these, when things like that were expected…Harry just didn’t feel comfortable. 

“Fine, let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, sighing heavily and scooting around to face his sister, deliberately avoiding any eye contact whatsoever.  No need to make things any more awkward than they had to be.  “You have sixty seconds.” 

“Oh, way to be enthusiastic, Haz.  That’ll really get ya far on the show!” Gemma exclaimed, fixing a sarcastic grin on her face and shooting him a thumbs-up. 

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…” 

“Ugh, fine.  You’re making this difficult, you know.” She muttered, shooting him the mother of all nasty looks. 

“Hey, we don’t have to have this conversation at  _all,_ ” he pointed out, raising his palms in defense. 

“Jesus, Haz, you’re acting like you’re getting the birds and bees or something.  Would you chillax?”  Harry snickered. 

“I think I’d prefer that spiel, actually—” 

“ _Enough._   Now shut up and let me talk.” She growled, and Harry, sensing a womanly outburst, pursed his lips and placed his hands politely in his lap.  “Erm, I know….that…well, we’ve had our…er, differences, and… “ Harry stifled a snicker as his sister struggled for words.  “Ugh.  This sucks.  Why is this so hard?” 

“Simple.  Because we hate each other with fiery passions, duh.” Harry grinned cheekily at her, his jade green eyes twinkling. 

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot,” she laughed, beaming.  Harry smiled slightly to himself.  He may want to brutally bludgeon his sister with a tampon on occasion, but that didn’t stop him from…Well, wanting to get along with her, even if it never happened.  Scratch that; it happened on occasions like these, however rare they may be.  Harry loved the feeling of having a friend there for him, especially one as close as Gemma.  Sometimes, when he was deep in thought, he wondered why they couldn’t simply be friends.  But that was part of how siblings worked; if a mutual hatred didn’t exist, then the relationship was rubbish.  Strange, it was true, but that’s the way things were; at least when it came to Harry and Gemma. 

“Well, I know I’m not gonna be able to say half of the things I want to, so I’m not going to make the attempt.” Gemma said comfortably, smiling with satisfaction and leaning back against Harry’s doorframe. 

“Oh, gee, thanks for making an effort in this relationship,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes yet again. 

“Hey, bud, I’m your sister.  I’m not supposed to give a damn about whether you like me or not.  All I have to do is make sure your life is a living hell,” she grinned. 

“Well, you’ve already done that, shouldn’t you be moving on?  Oh, wait, I remember—You don’t have a life,” Harry jeered, snickering when Gemma’s mouth fell open. 

“Oho, you did  _not_  just go there.” She snapped, her eyes narrowing into dangerous, cat-like slits. 

“Okay, that was bad enough,” Harry interrupted her.  “But I swear to God, if you snap your fingers and do that ‘Z’ thing, I’m gonna hurl.”  She smiled tauntingly, tapping her chin with a chipped nail and pretending to consider. 

“I suppose I could save you the agony…” she sighed.  “But you better consider yourself lucky, Harold.” 

“Uh, I’ll consider myself lucky when you get out of my room, Gemmers.”  Gemma shot him another nasty look, silencing Harry quickly. 

“You know what?  Nothing would make me more happy, so I’m gonna say what I came here to say and leave you to your very loud thoughts.” She smirked as Harry blushed yet again.  She scooted forward slightly on the carpet, until her knee was bumping Harry’s and she was able to look him the eye.  “Listen.  I know how stupid and thoughtless you can be—Hey, don’t interrupt!  I know how stupid and thoughtless you can be, so promise me you’ll look after yourself, because you won’t have mum or me there to babysit you all the time, okay?” 

Well, Harry thought, that was a very…interesting way of telling him to be careful.  He knew what she was saying, however, and that she was simply attempting to make her advice as cruel and soul-crushing as possible for the purpose of sounding like she meant it.  Siblings, they weren’t supposed to get along, and that was just how the two of them liked it. 

“Okay,” Harry grinned.  “And Gem, when I’m not there to tell you how hideous you look in that eye shadow, make sure you consult the internet or something before letting anyone see you in public.” 

“You little…”  A few minutes later, Harry was scowling as he rubbed a brand new bruise blooming on his jawbone.  Gemma may look like a total  _girl,_  but she was a girl with a fist, that was for sure.  “But…but seriously…” She began, struggling once again for words.  “Those people, they can be mean, and you’re gonna get hurt out there, regardless of whether you win or not.  You know that, right?” she asked, her previously joking face morphing into one of intent.  

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, his thoughts swirling around the future.  What Gemma had said was true; you didn’t come out of that show without having your heart broken at least a couple of times.  The question was, could he handle it? 

“Just…Just don’t let them get you down.  Just know that you’ve got a family back home believing in you.” She said, and as Harry looked up, she could see her practically gagging on the sappy words that had just slipped from her mouth, and he smirked. 

“Aw, don’t get all cheesy and schmaltzy on me, Gem.  You’re killing the mood.”  A smile lit her lips, and she punched him playfully. 

“I just want to hear from you that you won’t forget.  Okay?” 

“I won’t forget,” he said sincerely.  “And don’t you forget either.” 

“Forget what?” she asked confusedly, her deep brown eyebrows furrowing above her emerald eyes, as green as her brother’s. 

“Uh…I dunno.  You said not to forget, so I thought it’d sound cool if I said it too.” Harry answered sheepishly, his lips pursing as he attempted to mask his feeling of stupidity.  Gemma laughed, eyes bright. 

“Aw, that’s my brother Haz, always making himself look like a total berk.” 

“Hey!” he said indignantly, looking up, but he too could not conceal the smile playing at his lips. 

“You know, as weird as this sounds, and as much as I totally hate to say it, I’m gonna miss you, Harry.  Kind of.” 

“Thanks, Gem.  I’ll kind of miss you too.” He said, grinning. 

“What do you say?  Hug for good luck?” she asked, smiling goofily and extending her arms.  Harry shrugged, bobbing his head slightly before hugging her.  He could not deny that it was a very awkward hug; he didn’t often embrace his sister.  But, he supposed that this was long overdue. 

“I hate you, Gemma,” he said with a smile, but the absolute love and fondness in his eyes contradicted his statement.  Gemma got the message, however, and, beaming widely, replied, “I hate you too.  A lot.”  They hugged once more, this time a little more comfortably, and, because Harry was becoming overwhelmed by the mushiness filling the air, exclaimed, “Three…Two…One…Your time is up.  Now eff off before I attack you with my anti-frizz spray.”  Gemma rolled her eyes, but stood up all the same, flicking Harry on the side of the head before skipping happily out of his room. 

“Harry, we’re leaving in ten minutes.  I hope you’re ready!” his mum’s voice echoed from the kitchen.  Harry swallowed nervously, taking a slow, deep breath through his noise as nerves bubbled in the pit of his stomach.  This was it.  He had finally been given the chance he’d been dreaming of for ten years; he had a shot at getting out of this hellhole.  No way was he going to blow it….Or was he?  He certainly did not intend on blowing, of course, but he had learned to expect the unexpected, and the unexpected was not always a beneficial thing. 

He finished his packing, sliding a small, white bottle of pills into little pouch concealed inside the back.  As he zipped the opening of duffel bag with a flourish and rose to his feet, a strange, uneasy feeling overcame him. 

He felt extremely conflicted.  Part of him didn’t feel ready to travel to London and compete with the other amazing singers who had passed their auditions.  He felt as if he needed to wait and take more time to prepare, yet he knew that even if he spent fourteen hours a day, rehearsing for months, he would never feel ready.  Another part of him could not wait to get the hell out of this nightmare of a town and away from his life. 

Well, regardless of how he felt, he was going, so he might as well forget the nagging feeling of unpreparedness and fear growing in his gut and take one step forward at a time. 

 

⤞✧⤝


	3. No Luck

⤞✧⤝

 

The young man planted his lips on the forehead of his little sister once more before straightening up and beaming down at his beautiful family. 

“Hey,” one of the younger girls whined loudly, a sulky pout lingering on her small, pink mouth as she tugged demandingly on the hem of her brother’s sweater.  “How come Fizz gets an extra kiss?” 

“Oh, it’s because I love her more,” the boy grinned, causing the young girl yanking on his clothing to glare at him with her eyes, as blue as the deepest part of the ocean. 

“That’s not true,” she protested as she trod on his feet.  “Mum says no favourites, right, Mama?” 

“She also says no tattling, doesn’t she?” the boy said, tapping the tip of the child’s nose and causing her to giggle.  “You know I’m kidding, Daisy-Maisy.  I love you too.” He winked, bending down to press his lips to her honey-blonde hair and pat her affectionately on the cheek. 

“Me too!” a child identical to the one clinging to the boy’s sweater squealed, rushing forward and tripping in her haste to reach her older brother. “One for me too, Lou!” 

“Of course, Phoebe, I couldn’t forget you!” the boy exclaimed with a grin, giving her a gentle kiss on the top of her head of blonde hair, the same warm shade of honey as her twin’s. 

“How you manage to tell those two apart, I still have no idea,” his mother muttered wearily to her son as she ran a hand tiredly through her mess of caramel brown hair, indistinguishable from the pigment of her son’s.  The boy laughed, elation buzzing through his veins like heroin as he knelt to gather all four of his sisters in his arms and squeeze them tightly into a massive, compressed group hug. 

“All right, let mummy in,” their mother said, smiling wearily as she bent to clutch her children close to her heart. 

“You’ll send me messages, right, Louis?” the eldest of the girls asked eagerly, whipping out a shiny new cell phone from her hand-me-down purse she had gotten from mum the last Christmas. 

“Silly, you only want me to message you so you’ll have a reason to text,” the lad teased her, grinning and cocking a knowing eyebrow. 

“No,” she denied sulkily, but Louis laughed as he kissed her on the cheek and hugged her tightly to his chest. 

“Course I’ll text you, Lottie.  What would I do without my little sister telling me how stupid I look in my Toms?”  She giggled, shrugging her shoulders and wrinkling her nose. 

“Bye, Louis!” Another girl exclaimed, throwing her slim arms around the boy’s neck and jumping slightly as she leaped onto his chest. 

“Oomph!  Don’t break me, Fizz.  Blimey, you’re getting too big for this,” Louis laughed, grunting slightly as he hoisted her up into his arms. “I’ll miss you, okay?” 

“Okay,” she whispered in his ear, nearly squeezing him to the point of asphyxiation before clambering down to the floor. 

“Hey, mum said we can go get a juice from the snack machine!” one of the twins said eagerly, and, with a whirl of flying skirts, sweaters, and squeals, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Tomlinson quartet was off, racing through the crowd of people and dashing for the nearest vender. 

“Hey, you stay together, you hear?” Louis shouted after them, cupping his strong, tawny hands around his mouth.  He looked down at his mother, laughter in his eyes. 

“Oh, Louis,” she sighed.  “What am I going to do without you there to handle those monkeys?”  He laughed, his cheeks turning pink, and his mum could tell that he was proud of how he managed the kids. 

At eighteen, Louis was the eldest of his siblings by four years.  When Charlotte was born, he had immediately expressed his ability to get along well with children, and when he grew older, he began looking after his siblings as if they were his own kin.  Some of his mates went so far as to call them his kids, and to Louis, they were.  He had always had a soft spot for children, and he knew he wanted rugrats of his own someday, but for now, his little sisters were all he needed.  He loved them more than anything; more than Toms, more than suspenders, more than sweaters…Perhaps he loved them just as much as he loved singing.  Many times, he had found himself somehow combining his two favourite things in the world as he sang the twins to sleep, or as he taught Fizzy a song to help her with maths.  Biting his lip, he wondered what life would be like without the kids in his life.  If he ventured far in  _The_   _X Factor_ , he would be seeing a lot less of them.   

“To be honest,” he said, smiling sadly down at his mother, “I’m not sure what  _I’ll_  do without them around.”  His mother laughed, lines appearing on either side of her cheeks. 

“If only I could sign you over as a parent.  Maybe I could take a break,” she smiled.  Louis chuckled softly. 

“They’ll be good, I promise,” he said confidently, nodding slightly to himself.   

“I want the same promise from you, mister,” he mother said, suddenly stern as she gave him a firm look, and Louis refrained from rolling his eyes with great difficulty. 

“Mum,” he began, a bored, rehearsed tone creeping into his smooth, melodious voice.  “I promise I won’t break any rules, I won’t smoke, I won’t disobey my curfew, I’ll keep clean, I’ll be careful, I won’t run with scissors, I won’t have sex, and I won’t drink.  Well not  _too_ much, anyways.  I’m kidding!” He amended with a laugh as his mother glared at him. 

“You promise?” she asked fervently, her hazel gaze penetrated his own slate blue eyes, and he nodded very slowly and deliberately. 

“I promise,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his pink lips. 

“That’s my boy,” she whispered, and Louis was mortified to discover that tears had racked her voice, and before he knew it, she had thrown her arms around his neck and was sobbing heartily into his shoulder. 

“Mum!” he exclaimed in surprise.  “Mum, it’s okay.  Even if I do make it past Bootcamp, I’ll only be gone for a week.  Then I’ll be back with you guys, at least for awhile.”  His mother nodded, pulling back and dabbing at her nose, trying very hard to pull herself together.  Louis sighed as he looked her over. 

She had always been so touchy about being apart from her only son.  Louis knew that it had been hard for her to watch as he grew more and more nurturing and morph from the child she had read to at bedtime to a young man who tucked her own daughters in before kissing them goodnight.  That wasn’t to say Louis himself was a mature, responsible adult, however, even if it may be so legally. 

Part of what he loved about spending time with his younger sisters was that he could act their age and not be judged for it.  One too many times, his mother had walked in on him playing duck-duck-goose with the twins, or playing “House” with Fizzy. What had been cute when Louis was ten had turned downright strange by the time his eighteenth birthday rolled around, yet his mother couldn’t seem to bring herself to interrupt a good game of tag whenever she came across one.  

In many ways, he was younger than his little sisters were, and sometimes his mother wondered if, while her daughters were maturing full steam ahead, Louis would be forever stuck in his childhood.  If this was the case, Louis certainly didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he told anyone who would listen that his biggest fear was aging and that he would stay in his teens forever, no matter what the date on his driver’s license said.  Louis didn’t blame himself either; he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to grow up and suddenly have to rise to instantaneous expectations, such as, oh, maybe behaving?  

 _My body says I’m eighteen,_  he would reply if anyone ever asked him his age,  _but my heart’s still telling me I’m twelve._  And he would beam proudly, as if he had just come home with the top mark on a school essay. 

“Bye, mum.  I love you.  Take care of the kids, okay?” he said earnestly, kissing his mother on the cheek and making a face when her salty tears came in contact with his skin. 

“Louis Tomlinson, you wipe that smirk off your face before it sticks there,” his mother smiled tearfully, swallowing and hugging him goodbye one last time.  Louis sighed; he was desperately sad to be leaving his mother and sisters.  They were really all he had, apart from his best mate Stan, whom he had already said goodbye to back in Doncaster.

“Bye,” he said, a sad, sheepish smile on his lips as his mum began crying again.  “Mum, you better smile this instant.  I don’t want to remember you like this.” He joked, grinning down at her.  Too his relief, she finally smiled a genuine smile; it may have been a bit tired and bit teary, but it was an honest smile all the same, and that was good enough for Louis. “Love you,” he said, hugging her tightly before taking a deep, slow breath and grabbing the handle of his suitcase.  He waved once and turned his back regretfully on the family.  Biting his lip, he began walking. 

As the distance between he and his mother grew, a smile rose on his face, for the feeling that he was leaving something behind vanished, and the feeling of excitement ignited like a spark in his chest as he considered the future.  Louis Tomlinson wasn’t walking away; he was walking forward, and he knew that, as his eyes lit on the enormous sign above the studio door reading, “Do  _You_  Have the X Factor?” He realized that he was not leaving his life behind.  He was moving on to his dream. 

 

⤞✧⤝

 

“And step and kick and slide, two, three four.  And spin and turn and kick.  C’mon, pick up the pace now!”

Harry ears rang with the sharp bark of the instructor’s voice, and the world became a surreal blur as he spun on the balls of feet and halted himself before extending his arms out from his chest. 

“And slide, two, three, four, and back, two three, four.  Guys, this is like nursery school; it should be a piece of cake.”  

 _Emphasis on 'should,'_  Harry thought darkly, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the instructor while she was leaning back in a chair, legs crossed and juice in hand.  It was all very well for her, who looked like she hadn’t completed a single move in her life. 

“I want to see those shoulders rolling!  More smoothly, now, come on!” she barked from her relaxed position off stage.  Harry’s breath caught in his throat as sweat beaded at his hairline.  Harry had spent a large portion of his life singing, but dancing….That was another matter entirely.  Harry’s tool was his throat, not his feet. 

Frustration clouded his mind as he lost track of the moves yet again, and he began to feel overwhelmed while he struggled to keep up, feeling as if he had no luck on his side. 

“Keep up, 165998,” the instructor shouted sternly, and upon peering down at his chest and stretching the fabric of his shirt outwards, he realized that she was speaking to him.  

 _Oh, sure,_  he thought sarcastically,  _Let me get right on that._

“Are you okay, mate?” a tall, brunette boy dancing beside him breathed, his words somewhat distorted as he stomped his right foot. 

“Yeah, why?” Harry panted, shooting the boy a strange look. 

“Nothing, it’s just, you’ve been muttering to yourself and all,” he replied, shrugging uncomfortably and turning on the spot. 

“Oh.  Erm….Yeah,” Harry muttered, his cheeks heating as he bit his lip.  He focused on watching the feet of the others in attempt to follow along, and he noticed that the boy who had spoken to him was not half bad; in fact he was very good. 

“You ripping me off?” he heard him chuckle lightly a moment later. 

“What?” Harry asked stupidly, eyebrows furrowing as he made an effort to copy the boy’s movements. 

“It’s freestyle,” the lad whispered.  “We each do whatever the hell we want.” 

“Oh…” Harry said again, going redder still.  Blimey, what was wrong with him?  So far, his  _X Factor_  experience had been nothing like he had expected.  Sure, he had gotten excited when the lads all sang a Michael Jackson song, but he didn’t feel that he had shown the judges his best, and it was nagging on the edge of his mind every minute of the day.  He had been elated when he had made the first cut, and he had expected things to improve from that moment on, but this…This was not what Harry considered to be “improved.” 

“You’ll improve soon enough, don’t worry,” the boy beside him said encouragingly, only causing Harry to groan with frustration.  

“All right, that’s enough,” the brutal instructor grumbled, waving an arm and muttering darkly to herself, all the while shooting nasty glances at the lot of the contestants. 

“Finally,” Harry sighed, his feet ceasing movement as he bent, hands cupped around his knees and  supporting his weight.

“I know, right?” the boy beside him laughed wearily, scooping up a bottle of water from a chair set against the wall and uncapping the lid to take a long swig. 

“What happened to singing?” Harry mumbled, his cheeks still warm with embarrassment.  The boy grinned, screwing the lid back onto his bottle and setting it down. 

“I’m Liam,” he said, sticking out a hand.  Harry took it, smiling. 

“Harry.” 

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Harry." the boy smiled, his honey-colored eyes twinkling.

“And yourself,” Harry grinned. 

“Hey, Liam,” another boy, clearly Irish, sauntered happily up to the pair and shoved his hands in his pockets, his shaggy, unnaturally blonde hair brushing his ears.  Harry couldn’t help smiling as he eyed him; what with the boy’s goofy grin and shining blue eyes, he seemed to positively radiate with joy.  His glee was practically contagious. 

“Oh, hey, Niall.  Niall, this is Harry.” Liam said, smiling slightly as he stuck his fingers in his pockets, his thumbs peeking causally out over the denim.

“Hey,” Harry said with a grin, shaking Niall’s hand as well.  “You two know each other?” 

“Not really.  I mean, obviously we  _know_  each other. That’d be bloody creepy if I walked up and was like, ‘Hey, I know your name!’” Niall chortled, his face alight with humour.  Harry chuckled; this boy was astounding.  Liam rolled his eyes, smirking slightly. 

“We met yesterday, in other words.” He said with a laugh. 

“So, you liking the dance Nazi?” Niall asked, nodding his head in the instructor’s direction.  Harry snickered. 

“ _Love_  her,” he grinned, and as one they all glanced over to the instructor, who was currently screaming bloody murder at someone over the phone.  Harry found himself feeling a rush of sympathy for whoever was on the other line.  The lads watched as she hung up, muttering under her breath, and made her way over to dark, reserved-looking boy sitting quietly in a folding chair and began to berate him.  Niall frowned, his dark blonde eyebrows furrowing beneath the creases in his forehead, and stuck his hands on his stocky hips. 

“She’s just going to yell at him for not dancing like MJ?” he asked disapprovingly, watching as the dark boy bit his lip, deep brown eyes locked on his feet as his hands trembled around a water bottle. 

“That’s rubbish,” Liam murmured, glaring at the instructor.  Harry pursed his lips.  He couldn’t deny that he was no dancer—Hell, he danced about as well as a tellytubby—but he hadn’t been shouted at for something he couldn’t help.  Sure, if he had taken a few lessons back home, he might have a bit more to show the judges, but when he was compared to people like Liam, who brought talent to the stage, he felt particularly degraded.  As he eyed the dark boy in the instructor’s raging shadow, he felt that he must know what he was going through; at least a bit of it, anyway. 

Suddenly, a strange, high-pitched beeping noise filled the small space between the three lads, and Harry glanced down to see that his watch was blinking.  It was eight thirty.   _Shit,_ he thought, smiling nervously as he hit the miniscule metal button on the surface of the watch. 

“What’s that for?” Niall asked curiously, leaning over to peer at Harry’s watch. 

“Erm… Must’ve set the alarm a bit late,” he chuckled, and to his relief, the other two laughed along. 

“Bit of a mess-up; you would’ve missed rehearsals!” Niall smiled. 

“He’d have been lucky,” Liam muttered, shooting a glance in the direction of the instructor, who was still shouting at the dark lad. 

“I’m, er, just off to the loo,” Harry mumbled, trying very hard to sound nonchalant as he edged casually out of the circle and started for the hallway. 

“Have a nice trip!” he heard Niall call after him, and he grinned to himself.  He decided that he liked those boys.  He hoped that, if he stayed in the competition for awhile, that they would accompany him.  He took a left turn down a hallway and reached the toilet, opening the door and strolling inside. 

The moment he crossed the threshold, he froze, for a boy in one of the stalls was singing.  Harry frowned slightly; somehow that didn’t seem particularly  _normal_ , especially considering the fact that, aside from Harry, there was another person washing his hands at the sink, making quite a lot of noise as he did so, every once in awhile emitting a pointed, “Ahem.” 

As the boy at the sink looked up, he gave Harry an uncertain shrug, nodding his head in the direction of the other lad’s stall, and walked out of the bathroom.  Harry cautiously entered a stall, eyebrows furrowing as he listened to the voice.  It was sweet, indescribably so, in fact.  This person’s voice flowed as smoothly and softly as chocolate, although by the way he was singing, he didn't sound like he was making much of an effort.  Harry wondered if the boy had known there were others in the toilet, or if he thought he was quite alone.  Harry shuffled his feet loudly against the sqaure, ice-white tile as he walked into the stall and locked the door with a clang before pausing to listen.  The boy simply continued to sing. 

As Harry listened more closely, he realized that he was warbling what seemed to be a personalized version of the Beatles. 

“Louis in the sky with diamonds,” the boy sang relaxedly, and as Harry repressed a laugh, he realized that he could quite honestly hear the grin in the boy’s voice as he sang.  He continued to trill carelessly away as Harry slipped a familiar white bottle from the pocket of his corduroys and tapped a tiny pink pill into the callused palm of his hand.  Harry bit his lip, wondering if the boy had heard, and quickly slipped it between his lips, gulping it down dry. 

Harry smirked and exited the stall as the boy sang quietly to himself, sounding like the happiest, most content person on earth.  While Harry adjusted his mop of chocolate-colored curls in the mirror, he froze as the stall door behind him clanked open, colliding with the pale blue wall. 

He glanced in the mirror to see the singing boy standing behind him, waving cheerfully and grinning like he had just told a very clever joke and could not be more tickled with himself.  As if his joy was contagious, a grin plastered itself across Harry’s mouth as he waved back.  There was something odd about the boy, something that suggested joy seemed to roll from his body in waves.  His aura was positively  _overwhelming,_ and Harry could not have possibly been more baffled.

The boy, a short, slight figure with elegant features, strolled happily towards the line of sinks bolted to the walls and placed a strangely delicate hand upon the faucet of the bin.  With a quick, fluid movement, he turned the handle and sent water spurting wildly from the metal.  Harry gasped slightly as a spatter of the cold substance suddenyl sprayed itself across his arms and torso, staining the fabric of his jackets with dark dots.

"Oops!" The boy sang, pursing his lips with amusement as he glanced apologetically towards Harry, and Harry chuckled, eyes widening slightly.  

"Hi," Harry replied sheepishly, and the boy smirked, shooting a playful look in Harry's direction.  “Did you know you were singing?” Harry continued stupidly, then rolling his eyes at himself.  The boy only grinned more widely, if that was possible, and his thin brows seemed to curl charmingly above his eyes.

“Did you know you were mumbling?” he replied cunningly, immediately causing Harry to flush with humiliation, of course. 

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled, and the boy laughed. 

“Then yes.  I knew I was singing.  I notice these things pretty quickly; I think it’s a gift.” He winked cheekily. Before he could stop himself, Harry was laughing too, clutching his ribs and sending his voice echoing around the loo. 

“Louis in the sky with diamonds,” he began singing again, as abruptly as he had stopped, and Harry’s face filled with surprise. 

His eyes roamed across the profile the strange boy.  He, like Harry, wore in a tee shirt and cardigan, and he, also like Harry, had a beanie draped over his smooth, caramel-coloured hair, which contrasted nicely with his olive-toned skin and piercing, ocean blue eyes.  He seemed to pull off the look much mor effectively than Harry did, if he were to be honest.  Perhaps it was the tantalizing spark of mischief in the boy's face that Harry seemed to lack, or perhaps it was the odd, masculine elgance of the boy's sharp, delicate features.  

“Don’t worry,” the boy said as he washed his hands, cutting himself off and ceasing his singing curtly, taking Harry by surprise yet again.  “My mum told me not to judge a book by its cover, so I won’t assume that you’re weird for mumbling to yourself or anything.”  He smiled widely at Harry.  He had quite a lot of nerve to be calling him weird when he had been the one singing to himself in a public toilet, Harry thought, but somehow, he found the entire situation highly amusing. 

“Er….Thanks,” he said, slightly overwhelmed by the extraordinary…strangeness of this boy. Perhaps it was his exuberance, or his lack of self-consciousness; something Harry possessed in great quantities, but something this boy seemed to be without. 

“My name’s Louis,” he smiled sheepishly, holding out his hand to Harry. 

“I’m Harry,” he said.  When he reached out to shake it, however, Louis withdrew it quickly, shouting, “Jellyfish!” and laughing as if he were being tickled to death, his blue eyes glinting with mischeif.  Harry’s eyes widened with interest as he struggled to comprehend the sheer eccentricity of this boy. 

“Oops.  Sorry.  Can I give it another go?” Louis asked, his laughter dying as quickly as it had come. 

“Er…” Harry began, a bit lost for words. 

“Okay!” Louis answered happily, and Harry, recovering slightly, stuck his hand out, but instead, Louis opened his arms and tugged Harry into a sweet, friendly hug.  Harry simply froze in astonishment for a moment, before he gave in with a strange, startled laugh and hugged the boy back. 

He noticed right away that he felt very comfortable in the boy’s arms, and as they stood there in that bathroom, he decided that this boy would be his friend.

 

⤞✧⤝


	4. The Sea

⤞✧⤝

 

“Next!  We need the next contestant up here, please!” one of the technical producers was shouting, waving his clipboard in the air and growing increasingly agitated as he attempted to speak to the contestants and listen to the person talking to him through his headset simulateneously. 

Louis looked up, gazing around at the waiting contestants.  Thankfully, he had already gone, and the somersaulting nerves he had felt in his gut a few minutes before had dulled to what felt like the fluttering of butterflies.  Butterflies were very pretty, he thought, his fresh blue eyes contemplative.  He felt very lucky to have his turn over and done with; some of the boys milling about backstage looked on the verge of nervous breakdowns. 

“I need contestants 165998 and 618792 up here, please!” the technical producer bellowed, cupping his hand round his lips and conking himself in the jaw with his clipboard.  Louis sniggered contentedly to himself before tugging out his mobile and scrolling through text messages, merely for something to do.  It was a method he used often; either to keep his hands busy and his attention occupied, or to avoid looking like a blithering idiot when he was on his own. 

“Go on now, they’re rolling!” the producer hissed anxiously to the next contestant in line, and Louis glanced up to see a boy’s foot catch on the edge of the stage as he stumbled up the steps.  He imagined the nerves of the boy, and he felt mingled pity and relief in his chest as he thanked his lucky stars that his audition was finished.  He felt a bit comforted in the fact that there was nothing more he could do. 

Part of him was duly aware that he had not been up to scratch, and that his chances of moving on were little to none; but he also knew that there was no point in fretting over what could not be changed.  

 _Dwell on the past, and you’re hit by what’s coming next.  Imagine the future and you miss the present.  Live your life in the moment, Louis,_ his father used to tell him.  Louis was distressed to think that was all he remembered of his father.  He had left him and his mum when Louis was very young, but that was not what bothered him.  What upset Louis more than anything was the fact that not once, over the years of Louis’s childhood, had he made an effort to see his only son and his three daughters.  

 _“You’re coming back, right, dad?”_ Louis had asked him before he had packed his things and left for good.  

_“Course I am.  I’ll see you every week, I promise, and I’ll write you every day.”_

_“Pinky swear?”_ Louis had demanded, sticking out his middle finger.  His father had simply laughed.  

 _“You’re gonna be just like your dad, when you grow up, buddy.  Yeah, I pinky swear.”_ He had locked his own middle finger around his son’s before kissing the top of his head and walking out of his life.  At first, he had kept half of his promise, sending four or five letters a week, asking how nursery school was, telling him to be brave for his old man and, at the time, his only sister Charlotte. 

As the weeks had gone by, however, Louis had stopped receiving so many letters from his father.  Their occurrences shrunk from four to five weekly to one each month, if Louis was lucky.  Eventually, they stopped coming altogether.

“Hold up, hold up, don’t be scared.  You’ll never change what’s been and gone.  May your smile shine on, don’t be scared, your destiny will keep you on.” 

Louis looked up from his mobile, his eyebrows furrowing as he listened intently to the contestant’s voice as he sang.  His voice was nothing short of beautiful, Louis speculated, and he rose, walking to the curtain to peer up at the stage.  His periwinkle eyes widened as he realized that the boy singing so divinely was the one he had met in the bathroom. 

“Harry,” he muttered to himself, nodding slightly as his face puckered with concentration and his eyes trained on the curly-haired lad.  It was as if Louis were watching an action film, and if he blinked or looked away fro even a moment, he would miss something vital. 

“We’re all of the stars, we’re fading away.  Just try not to worry, you’ll see us someday.  Just take what you need and be on your way, and stop crying your heart out.”  He finished with a long, reverberating note, his tone richer and sweeter than honey, and Louis, grinning goofily, put his hands together and clapped quietly as Harry nodded to the judges and started off the stage. 

“Hello,” he said with a beam as he caught sight of Louis watching from the wings. 

“That was brilliant,” Louis enthused, no pre-amble or uncomfortable greeting included. 

“Oh, thanks,” Harry mumbled, his cheeks pinkening. 

“I was wondering, could I get a photo with you?” Louis asked eagerly, pulling his mobile from his pocket. 

“Er…Sure, but do you mind me asking  _why?_ ” Harry asked, goggling Louis as if he were psychotic.  It wasn’t the first time he had received that look, but Louis tended to take it as a compliment. 

“Because you’re going to famous one day, with a voice like yours,” Louis said, smiling broadly and extending his mobile out in the air.  Harry blinked stupidly before a dopey grin crossed his features and he put an arm around Louis’s shoulder, smiling for the camera.   Louis’s hand tightened around Harry’s waist, and he knew just by how completely at ease he felt that the two of them would be very good mates. 

“Thanks for the exaggeration.  However untrue it may be, it still cheers me up.” Harry smiled wryly.  Louis blinked, looking taken aback.  Was this curly-haired , green-eyed swathe of talent honestly be doubting himself? 

“What are you talking about?” he chuckled incredulously.  “Have you heard yourself, mate?”  At this, Harry only blushed more furiously, causing Louis to snicker. 

“I’ve heard you sing,” Harry mumbled, his eyes locked on the microphone in his hands.  “And you’re loads better than I am.”  He glanced up, jabbing his finger in the direction of another contestant.  “And so is he.  And that bloke.  Oh, and him as well—” 

“Shut it, you, you’re only bringing yourself down,” Louis rolled his eyes, grabbing Harry’s arm and forcing it back to his side.  He was slightly surprised by his modesty, as well as his compliment.  Louis knew how his own voice sounded, and as much as he loved singing, he also knew that, when compared to the voices of people like Harry, he was quite frankly amateur.   “Listen, I’m telling you right here, right now that you have nothing to worry about.  Best of luck, mate!” Louis grinned, holding out his arms.  Smirking slightly, Harry hugged him, mumbling a thank you in Louis’s ear. 

“No problem!” Louis smiled. 

“Excuse me, Harry, could we have a quick word?” the host, Dermot, tapped on Harry’s shoulder and gestured to a cameraman standing a few feet back.  Louis watched as Harry walked off for an interview before turning around to fetch a drink from the cooler. It had been a long day for Louis, but all in all, he was having the time of his life.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

Harry had never felt so happy.  Looking around at the other contestants, a smile broke across his face as Aiden, a tall, stylish boy with an…interesting choice of hairstyle struck the strings of his guitar and opened his mouth to sing, joined in by a gaggle of others as he did so. 

“I’m gonna make a change.  For once in my life, it’s gonna feel real good.  Gonna make a difference, gonna make it right,” they all chorused; rather badly, it was true, but none of the lads were making any particular effort to sound fresh off Broadway at the moment. 

Harry, turning his head slightly, grinned happily at Niall, who was clapping his hands together in time to the beat and singing his heart out, his resonant voice drifting around Harry’s ears as it mingled with the others’.  

Harry looked across the room at Louis, who seemed to have calmed down somewhat since their hectic encounter in the loo.  A wide, relaxed smile sat across his pink lips, and his eyes seemed to shine with contentment as he folded his arms lazily behind his back and leaned against the wall.  As Louis caught Harry’s eye, he grinned. 

“I’m starting with the man in the mirror,” the group warbled, and Harry chortled heartily as Louis nodded in the direction of the dark boy Harry had seen earlier on the dance floor, who was now fiddling with his hair and making provocative faces at himself in a hand mirror, his lips moving slightly in sync with the lyrics as he focused.  Harry and Louis kept themselves amused by making ridiculous faces at each other, earning Harry a couple nudges in the ribs and a few strange glances from Niall.  Louis seemed like a good bloke, despite his obvious…oddities, but overall, Harry was highly entertained by the boy with the caramel-colored hair and piercing eyes, bluer than the sea.  He could certainly manage to put a smile on Harry’s face. 

 _And let’s face it_ , Harry thought,  _there aren’t many people who can do that anymore._   Something about the boy seemed to interest Harry, seemed to draw him in.  In any case, Louis always left Harry wanting to know more, and if he was being honest, he seemed like the first person he had come across in a long while that could cheer him up as effortlessly as blinking an eye.  Harry smiled as he ambled over to Liam, Niall, and Harry, a serene smile on his face contradicting the spark of mischief that never seemed to leave his blue eyes. 

“Hey, Louis!” Harry said happily, grinning widely and holding out his fist.  Louis bumped it, his scarf swinging around his neck as he leaned forward. “Guys, this is Louis.  Louis, this is Niall and Liam.” Harry said, smiling as he introduced his new mates.  It had been a very long time since Harry had had any friendships or relationships that felt…Authentic.  Most of his friends back home were so artificial, they should have been listed as a flavour on the back of a juice box.  These boys, however, had an aura about them that seemed very genuine, and in a strange way, Harry was sorry that they had to meet under these certain circumstances. 

“ _If you’ve made friends, forget them.”_ Simon Cowell had said grimly at the first cut, causing each of the contestants to exchange nervous glances.  Louis, of course, had thought the whole thing was hilarious _._

 _"Right,”_  he had snickered.  “ _It’s a good thing we’re taking such valuable moral lessons from this experience.”_   He had a good habit of being able to lighten any mood and put a smile on anyone’s face, no matter what the situation.  Harry couldn’t help but think that, with the current situation and the extreme tension and pressure that came along with it, he was a valuable person to have around. 

“All right, break for dinner,” one of the tech men shouted, poking his head into the room and waving an arm in the air.  “Don’t eat too much, your stomachs will be full of butterflies.” 

“Why’s that?” one of the boys shouted, and the tech man smiled grimly. 

“Results are in an hour,” he replied before vanishing down the hall.  Harry swallowed as the thought of the results drifted to the forefront of his mind.  He wondered if he would be going home.  Really, the odds could favour him either way—he felt he had done reasonably well so far, and the judges seemed to like him, yet, as he gazed around at other contestants, such as Matt and Liam, he knew that there were other contestants with talent in much greater quantities, and that like it or not,  _they_ would be the ones to move on to the judges’ houses.  The question was, would Harry be one of them? 

Harry had a feeling that his chances were fifty-fifty, and therefore he had no idea whether he would be going back to that hellhole, Holmes Chapel, anytime soon.  Well, personally, he was hoping to stay a bit longer.  Anyways. 

“Supper time!” Louis hollered, jolting Harry out of his reverie and causing him to grin. 

“Let’s be off, then!” Liam said brightly, Niall leaping behind him like a puppy as we strode into the green room. 

“What do you have for dinner?” Louis asked Harry eagerly as they sat down at a round conference table, as if he were a second year eating in the school dining hall.  Harry smirked and whipped a five dollar bill out of his pocket. 

“Whatever the vending machine’s got to offer me,” he grinned, and Louis snickered.  “Why, what’d you bring?” Harry asked, and Louis held up a crinkled, faded yellow sticky note with a couple of digits scrolled sloppily across the surface. 

“What’s that?” Niall asked, biting his lip in confusion.  “My phone number.  I offer it to girls in exchange for food,” he grinned, and Harry collapsed into a bit of laughter while Liam nodded impressedly and Niall exclaimed, “That’s genius!  Free food!” 

“Not really,” Louis said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eyes as he looked over at Niall.  “You end up with loads of girls filling up your inbox.” 

“What are you complaining for, then?” Harry sniggered, eyebrows waggling, and Louis grinned as he slapped him a high-five. 

“Shall we?” he asked formally, standing up and bowing as he gestured stiffly towards the door. 

“Yeah, I believe we shall,” Harry said in a mock-pompous voice, sticking his nose in the air and smirking as he and Louis strode out into the hallway, walking with ridiculous poise and grinning when the other contestants eyed them wearily. 

“Ooh!  Potential clients ahead!” Louis said eagerly, pointing a gaggle of girls clustered around one of the message boards, all with crisp, paper take-out sacks in their hands.  “Hello, ladies!” Louis said with a jaunty grin and a wink.  He really knew how to flaunt his charm, Harry thought, impressed as Louis laughed, joked, and flirted shamelessly with the woman.  Maybe it was his eyes.  Harry was highly admirable of the shard-like quality of Louis’s bright green irises, sparkling when he smiled.  But Harry was proud of his own eyes; he’d often been complimented on them, and he was by no means complaining.  He grinned and stepped forward to dabble with the girls, in the process earning himself three phone numbers and a wink from one of the shorter brunettes. 

“Dinner is served,” Louis whispered jauntily as the pair of them walked  back to the green room, leaving with a bag of fruit snacks a piece and a juice box. 

“Not bad, Louis,” Harry complemented.  “I could pick up a few tricks.” 

“Please, I’m looking at the king of all womanizers,” Louis rolled his eyes, smirking, and Harry snickered. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he joked as they stepped back into the green room. 

“Dinner is over in twenty!  Get prepped for results!” A woman was announcing, and Harry gulped nervously. 

“Aren’t you nervous?” he asked Louis as they sat down beside Niall and Louis began playing with his car-shaped fruit snacks. 

“Not really,” he shrugged.  “I know I won’t move on.”  Harry’s eyes widened. 

“What?” he exclaimed.  “But Louis, I’ve heard you sing.  You were fantastic.” 

“You didn’t see my bootcamp performance,” Louis winced, the corner of his mouth tugging slightly downwards.  Harry realized that it was the first time he had ever seen the boy frown, and somehow, it was intriguing.  

“Well, thinking like that isn’t going to help you out,” Harry pointed out, his eyes widening innocently.  Louis smiled, seemingly unable to help himself. 

“Sure it will,” he said with a nod of his head.  “This way, I won’t get my hopes up.  Going home won’t hurt as much.”  Harry frowned to himself, watching as the boy toyed around with his fruitsnacks. 

“And we have Mr. Andretti pulling ahead for lap sixty-nine!” he grinned, putting on a deep, commercialized voice and contorting his face as he ran the two gummies around the juice box. 

“Sixty-nine…” Harry snickered, and Louis snorted. 

“Yes indeed, this is quite the battle here.  Ladies and gentlemen, I do believe this could be the race of the century!”  Harry began to laugh, chuckles leaking from his lips as he watched Louis entertain himself. 

“What’s this?” Louis yelped suddenly, causing Harry, Liam, and Niall to leap into the air in surprise.  “It seems that newly instated driver Simon…Erm…What was it?  Oh, right, Cowell, is taking the lead!  Oh, oh, oh, oh, he’s going to win!  He’s go to wi—Awh, and he’s swallowed up by the massive, deadly, and strikingly handsome hurricane Louis!”  Harry let out a hoot of laughter as Louis crammed one of the snacks into his mouth, grinning as he chewed and swallowed, his eyes alight with mischief. 

“You should have let me announce,” Niall whined, shaking his shaggy blonde hair out of his blue eyes.  “I do a mean Peter Dixon.” 

“Blimey, that’s something I’d like to hear,” Louis grinned, high-fiving Niall. 

“Hey, where’d Liam get off to?” Harry asked, noticing that his new mate wasn’t in sight. 

“Over there,” Niall said, jerking t humb over his shoulder.  “I think he’s talking to another contestant.”  Harry craned his neck to peer over at the tall, brown-haired boy, who was sitting at lonely table in a corner of the room, chatting coolly with another lad in his late teens.  He was a dark, sturdy boy, with close-cropped, jet-black hair and deep, chocolate brown eyes, framed by long, thick eyelashes, that seemed to take up half of his face.  He seemed slightly reluctant to be speaking to Liam, but then again, he hadn’t been social at all since Harry had first noticed him.  He supposed he was simply shy.

“Hey,” Louis said suddenly.  “That lad—He’s the one who couldn’t dance too well, yeah?” 

“Yeah, that’s him,” Niall nodded, “Although I’ve no place to judge.” 

“Don’t worry, young Niall,” Louis said somberly, patting Niall and giving him a sad, mocking smile.  “You’ll improve with time…And determination…” 

“Okay, Mr. Inspirational, let’s not draw out the peptalk,” Harry rolled his eyes, clapping Louis on the back, and he grinned as he glanced up at Harry. 

“I can’t help it, Harry.  I think it’s a gift.” He pretended to clutch his heart with emotion, and Niall and Harry snickered.  They looked up as Liam started back towards the table, this time followed by the dark lad, whose head was ducked slightly, his eyes flitting anxiously around the room.  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized hoodie as he slid hesitantly into a chair at the lads’ table between Louis and Liam.  He cleared his throat nervously, his uneasy brown eyes roaming around the lot, and he offered them a sheepish smile, his lips pursed. 

“This is Niall, Harry, and Louis,” Liam said, nodding towards each of the boys. 

“Erm, I’m Zayn,” he said in a quiet, rich voice, thick with a mingled British and Middle Eastern accent.  “Hello!” Louis said loudly, grinning as he opened his arms and offered Zayn a hug.  Zayn’s chocolate-brown eyes widened, and Harry smirked as he shot Liam a worried glance.  Liam, however, was repressing a smile, and, shrugging, Zayn awkwardly leaned forward to hug Louis. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s just friendly,” Harry grinned, mussing Louis’s soft, brown hair as if he were an affectionate pet.  Louis nodded sheepishly, and Zayn finally gave him a reluctant half-smile.  By the way Louis pumped his fist into the air and celebrated with a handful of fruit snacks, he saw this as a victory. 

“Nice to meet you,” Niall said happily, holding his hand out politely.  Zayn shook it silently before shaking Harry’s.  He seemed like a very quiet, reserved bloke, one who preferred his own company.  Well, maybe the lads could bring him out of his shell.  They were there, after all, to have fun, as well as win a five million dollar record deal.  So far, Harry was having a blast, ever since he had met the others.  Especially Louis; he was such an…interesting person.  Harry was certain that, as long as he was around, he would not have a dull moment on the show.  Hopefully most would be better than others, he thought. But as the host entered the green room, a serious expression on his face, Harry realized that now was not one of those better moments. 

“Contestants,” he said, “The results are in.  If you’ll please follow me…”  The boys’ grinning expressions seemed to slide right off their faces, and already, Harry’s heart had begun to thud in his chest. 

“Alrighty, lads.  All in this together, yeah?” Liam asked, a tight smile on his lips, although Harry could see that he was petrified. 

“Only eight get through,” Niall mumbled.  “And there are five of us.”  Harry had to admit, once he thought about it, there was a very, very high possibility that in a couple of minutes, most of their unofficial posse will have parted ways for good. 

“Well, it was nice knowing you.  Have fun on the show,” Louis grinned, clapping Harry and Liam on the back.  To Harry’s surprise, he didn’t quite sound like he was joking. 

“Louis, remember what I said?  Don’t talk like that.  You’re brilliant, all right?”  Louis rolled his eyes, a serene smile still on his lips, although his face did redden slightly at the compliment.  Liam shook his head modestly and followed Zayn down the hallway and up a flight of stairs to the dark wings. 

“All right, and…Rolling,” Harry heard a cameraman whisper, and the entire group filed onto the colorful stage.  As Harry waited in the wings while the others shuffled forward, he began to hyperventilate, as he always did when he grew anxious.  Behind him, the smirk had vanished from Louis’s face, and his eyebrows had knitted together, his dark, rosy lips pursed in a tight line as his expression filled with thought.  As their eyes met, Harry tried and failed to give him a comforting smile; his attempt resembled more of a pained grimace.  To Harry’s surprise, Louis mustered a convincing grin, and miraculously, the nerves somersaulting in his middle calmed somewhat.  Taking a shallow, rattily breath, he turned, facing forward, and followed one of the other contestants onto the stage to await his fate.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

"There's room for one more," Simon said quietly to the lot of boys remaining on the stage.  In the  past two minutes, seven of them had disappeared into the wings to phone their families about moving on to the Judges' Houses.  Harry, Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn were not part of that group.  Harry's heart beat loudly in his chest.  Sweat perspired in his warm palms as his arms clamped rigidly at his sides, his breath falling quickly and shallowly from his dry mouth.  He was already suffering a small bit of disappointment; whether he moved on or not, he would not be accompanied by the other four boys he had met and grew to know.  

His eyes blackened and his chest constricted as Simon opened his mouth to announce the name of the last person to move onward in the competition.  

 “Tom Richards.”  

As the first few letters escaped Simon’s mouth, Harry’s heart plummeted into his stomach, and an enormous disappointment overwhelmed him.   _Not me,_ he thought.   _I’m done.  I’m going back home to Holmes Chapel._ He had truly thought that this, perhaps, was his chance to escape the hellhole he had been living in, to finally live his dream of performing, and now...It was all over.  He would never be a singer, like he had always wanted.  Clearly, he didn’t have the confidence or the talent, and the judges knew it. Why did it seem that everything in his life eventually took a wrong turn?  Nothing had ever wound up ‘Happily Ever After’ for Harry.  He couldn’t believe he actually thought that this time might be different.  He was stupid to let himself get his hopes up, stupid to think that, even for a second, he might have had the smallest bit of ability.  

His throat tightened painfully and moisture burned behind his eyes as he applauded Tom Richards, a blank, passionless expression drawing itself across his face. It was his way of coping; his way of hiding his heartbreak from the world.  The remaining contestants, or former contestants, stood frozen on the stage, as if waiting for the judges to announce that there must have been a mistake and that they had all gotten through.  No such luck, however.  

“I’m sorry, guys, that’s it.” Simon said, pursing his lips and offering them a sympathetic gesture.  With an enormous effort, Harry dragged his feet along the stage, moving slowly behind the other contestants as they filed off of the stage, not a single manner of happiness, or even contentment.  Harry watched with glazed eyes as Niall buried his face, slick with tears, in his sweater as he cried.  His eyes moved from Niall to Liam, who was wrapped in the embrace of Dermot as he sniffled.  This was the second time Liam had been shot down, Harry realized, and the unfair thing was that Liam had shown inexplicable talent, and if anyone were to move on, it should have been Liam.  Harry glanced from Liam to Zayn, who was slumped in a chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he ran his hands agitatedly through his jet-black hair.  He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Louis standing behind him, a sheepish grimace lining his lips.  

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with concern and dejection, and those few words were all it took; the tears trickled over Harry’s eyelids, dripping slowly down his cheeks and clinging to his ash-brown lashes, and, alarm and sympathy growing in Louis’s face, he held his arms out uncertainly.  Without hesitation, Harry dove into them, desperate for any kind of comfort.  it didn’t matter whom it was from, or what it was for; all that mattered to Harry was that someone cared about how he was feeling, and right now, Louis seemed to be that person.  So, sniffling quietly, Harry curled into his arms while Louis anxiously patted his back and hushed him gently.  

“It’s okay, Harry.  It’ll be okay.”  Harry knew he was wrong; that he would soon be going back to the hell he had thought he’d escaped for good, yet somehow, Louis’s words were still comforting to him.  Dabbing at his eyes with his grey beanie, Harry finally leaned back, taking a deep breath.  

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking embarrassedly away from Louis.  

“Shut up,” Louis rolled his eyes.  “Don’t you dare apologize.”  Harry gave a feeble chuckle, trying very hard to maintain his composure.  “I really thought you’d move on,” Louis admitted, a sad smile creasing his lips.  “You and Liam, anyway.  I can’t believe you didn’t.”  Didn’t.  Harry didn’t move on.  

 _Thanks for reminding me, bud,_ he thought sarcastically as he mopped his eyes again, running a hand through his curls, praying for the tears swimming in his eyes to evaporate.  

“I’m sorry,” Louis said.  “It sucks, I know.”  Harry nodded in agreement.  It definitely sucked.  

“Why aren’t you upset, then?” he mumbled, eyeing Louis’s downcast, dry face, free of tears.  

“Oh, I am.  Believe me, I am,” he gave another sad smile, although it looked more like a grimace.  “But I knew I wasn’t going on.  It’s what I expected.”  

“I just wanna go home,” Harry whimpered, although it was far from the truth.  The last thing he wanted to do was go back to Holmes Chapel and greet his family with the bad news, sure he would have to put up with their disappointment.  

“No you don’t,” Louis chuckled.  Harry looked up, frowning slightly.  

“What are you—” 

“Harry, it’s pretty obvious.  Whenever you talk about your home, your mood drops like a bomb.  I was about to ask you if you were on your man period back there,” Louis grinned, and to Harry’s surprise, he found a genuine smiling crawling onto his own mouth.  How was it that, even when he had just had his dreams crushed and his talent denied, Louis was still able to make a joke?  It must be a gift, Harry thought incredulously, chuckling slightly.  “If you ever get sick of home,” Louis continued, causing Harry’s good mood to drop at once.  “Just ring me up.  I’ll be glad to brighten your day!” Louis said eagerly.  

“You already have.  Thank you,” Harry smiled grudgingly, blushing with embarrassment as he wiped his tear-stained face with the back of his hand.  “I...I gotta go.  It was great meeting you.  Really.”  

“You too, mate.” Louis said sincerely, wrapping Harry in a friendly hug and squeezing him tightly, causing Harry to gasp and Louis to snicker.  “Don’t stop singing, okay?” Louis asked, looking seriously into Harry’s face, a stern look on his own.  “You’ve got to much talent to waste.”  Harry’s cheeks burned with pride.  Maybe he wasn’t as terrible as he had thought; or rather, as the judges had thought.  

“I promise,” Harry found himself saying. “And don’t you stop either.  I know you don’t like to listen, but you’ve got a great voice.”  As Harry had expected, Louis rolled his eyes, muttering incomprehensibly to himself.  

“Bye, Louis.  I’m gonna miss you.”  

“You too, Harry!” Louis called.  Harry turned on the spot and, dragging his suitcase, started for the front steps of the arena, awaiting the cab that would take him to the train station and back to Holmes Chapel, this time for good.  As these thoughts fluttered about his head, the tears returned to his eyes, and the corners of his lips felt as if they were being weighed down into a permanent frown.  He heard a gentle sniffle, and he turned his head slightly to see Niall, dragging his suitcase over the threshold of the door, tears still coating his face.  Harry offered him a twitch of his mouth, and Niall returned it with a miserable nod.  

“Wait, boys!” They heard a voice calling to them as they started down the front steps, and they turned glumly to see a cameraman shouting to them from the front doors.  

“What?” Harry asked desolately.  

“They want you back inside for interviews.”  Harry bit his lip in frustration; it was bad enough that they had disheartened him by ending his dream of performing, but now they wanted an up-close on just how soul-crushing it was?  He felt his respect for the show slipping, yet he and Niall turned, sloppily heaving their bags back up the steps, not saying a word to each other.  They dumped their luggage in the lobby, wandering slowly over to the large group of rejects, who were huddled about Dermot and a couple of cameramen.  Harry slid into the group beside Liam, who looked nothing short of an abandoned puppy, tears glazing over his honey-coloured eyes, and Zayn, who looked as dejected and depressed as ever.  Niall stepped into place beside Louis.  

“The judges have asked nine contestants to return to the stage,” Dermot began, a paper in his hands.  Would it have killed them, Harry thought with irritation, to have found the particular contestants on their own and spare the other rejects from the further disappointment and humiliation?  First, they had turned him down, virtually murdering his ambition as a performer.  Secondly, they wanted to interview them and catch their overwhelming grief on camera.   _Lovely._ Thirdly, they were calling back nine lucky contestants, rubbing it in the others’ faces.  Yeah, this was one hell of a show.  Harry just wanted to get away from the arena; to slink away as quickly and quietly as possible, unnoticed and unremembered like the loser he—

“Harry Styles.”   _What?_   Harry’s head jerked up, causing a crick in his neck, as Dermot read out his name from the sheet of paper.  What was going on?  “Liam Payne,” Dermot continued, and Harry and Liam exchanged surprised glances.  “Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, and Louis Tomlinson.”  The entire lot of them shared a look of uncertainty, their dejection wearing off slightly as the wariness and possibility of what was coming bore down on them.  

“What’s going on?” Niall muttered, wringing his hands in his fingers  

“I dunno,” Louis breathed, biting his nails anxiously.  

“Geneva Lane, Sophia Wardman, Esther Campbell, and Rebecca Creighton.” Dermot continued.  “The rest of you are free to go."  He turned to the group of people now huddled anxiously by his side.  "Come with me, please." he said in a low voice.   He began walking towards the wings.  Why were they going backstage?  The lads were lead to the left stage steps, while the girls were instructed round to right backstage.  

“Go ahead,” A cameraman whispered. 

“What?” Zayn asked, bewildered.  

“You’re going on stage,” the cameraman said, eying them as if they were mental patients.  Gulping, they all glanced round at each other before Harry, hesitating slightly, hopped up the steps and onto the colorful stage, his heart thrumming in his chest.  Liam followed, as did the others, and Harry watched as the girls entered from the other end of the stage, hands joined.  

“All in this together, remember, mates?” Liam asked nervously, forcing a smile to his lips and slinging an arm around Zayn, and Harry slid his own arm over Niall's shoulders.  The others put their arms round each other as well, faces tense as they eyed the judges.  

“Hello,” Nicole said gently.  

“Hi,” a few of them replied, some more tearfully than others, particularly the girls. 

 "Thank you so much for coming back," Nicole said gently, smiling sympathetically up at the ex-contestants as she spoke into the microphone.  "I know, judging from some of your faces, that this is really hard."

 _Well,_ Harry thought, mingled bitterness and misery clouding his thoughts.   _That was a bit of an understatement._

"We've thought long and hard about it," Nicole continued, and to Harry's complete and utter disbelief, she was interrupted slightly by a soft, immature snigger, a snigger that had come from none other than  _Louis._ Harry's eyes widened somewhat; how on earth could he be  _laughing_ at a time like this?

"And we've thought of each of you as individuals, and we feel that you're just too talented to let go of." Nicole went on.   _Wait, what?_ A small, infinitesimal rumble seemed to have ignited in Harry's chest, growing and building very gradually as the judge spoke.   _Too talented to let go of?  What did it mean?  Could it...._

"We think it would be a great idea to have two separate groups." Nicole said seriously, and Harry's eyebrows shot upward across his forehead.   _What the hell..._ If someone could just explain to him what was going on, confirm his suspicions to be true...Was the judge saying what he thought she was saying?  As the rumble of excitement and apprehension in his chest proceeded to strengthen, he bit his lip, eyes hardening, and hoped with every fiber of his body for the impossible.  A couple of lads down, Louis was grinning like an idiot, while Zayn eyed the panel of judges with a wide, shocked gaze.  

Then...Oh, then....Simon opened his lips, and said the magic words.  

“We’ve decided to put you both through to the Judges' Houses.”

What came next was a surreal blur of noise and celebration as Harry, overwhelmed with shock, dropped to his knees, crouching on the floor as he grabbed his head in his hands, elation soaring through his veins.  This was not happening.  This could not be happening.  There was no way in  _hell_  this was happening....But it was.  It was as real as anything, as real as the sun in the sky.  Harry simply couldn't believe it.

“Yes!” Niall was shouting, looking as stunned and as euphoric as Harry felt, and he threw his arms awkwardly around Harry, who was still crouched upon the stage.  Leaping to his feet, a grin as long as the Nile stretched across his lips, Harry looked round at Louis, who was beaming at him, energy crackling behind his eyes and exhilaration in his face.  They ran and flung themselves upon each other, wrapping the other in a massive, bone-breaking hug.  Harry’s heart pounded against Louis’s, and he realized with a jolt of excitement that the two of them, as well as Niall, Liam, and Zayn, truly  _were_  in this together.  This wasn’t his own journey anymore.  This belonged to them all.  They were no longer competing against each other; they were a team.  

“Guys, guys,” Simon said into the mike, calming the lads down slightly, and Harry, arm around Louis’s shoulders, turned, smiling widely, and noticed the sharp squeals echoing from the girls’ mouths.  “This is a life line.  You have got to work ten, twelve, fourteen hours a day.”   _Anything,_ Harry thought.   _Anything it takes to make this a reality._   He would do whatever he had to in order to make his dream come true, whatever necessary to stay away from Holmes Chapel.  He could not believe it…

Ten minutes ago, his world had been falling apart, crushing his shoulders and his dreams, and now…With those few little words, everything had turned round, and suddenly, instead of looking back on a nightmare he thought he would be returning to forever, he was looking forward towards a future which seemed to stretch to the sky, a future with the four amazing boys standing beside him, the same indescribable feeling of overwhelming shock and euphoria racing through their veins. 

 _This is it,_ Harry thought, his cheeks beginning to ache painfully from his prolonged grinning, and he flung his arm tightly around the necks of Louis and Zayn, yanking them into his chest for a hug.  

_This is the beginning._

 

_⤞✧⤝_


	5. Wake Me Up

⤞✧⤝

 

“It’s...It just takes my breath away.  It’s truly beautiful.  I think...I think I’m tearing up,” Louis sighed emotionally as he gazed around at the interior of the summer home of Harry's step father, pretending to dab at his eyes, causing Harry and Niall to laugh and grin.  

“Come on,” Harry said, grabbing Louis’s arm and dragging him through the living room.  

“Oh my God!” Louis shouted, halting in his tracks and causing Harry to lurch feebly as he attempted to pull him into the kitchen.  

“What?” he grumbled, standing up straight and crossing his arms across his chest.  

“The Simpsons are on!” Louis shrieked excitedly, taking a dive for the sofa and sending it skidding a few inches across the wooden floor.  

“Careful!” Harry hissed in alarm, although he was smiling as he barreled onto the couch beside Louis. “My step dad will kill me if I break his house.”  

“Harry, you can’t actually--”  

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Liam,” Harry waved him away, and Liam grinned, setting his luggage down in the doorway.  

“Come on, guys, we need to get unpacked!” Niall said urgently from the doorway.  “My mum made me promise not to have a snack until I’m finished.”  

“Aw, was mummy bossing little Nialler around?” Louis cooed, grinning.  Liam and Harry laughed while Niall shot Louis an exceedingly rude hand gesture.  

“Ouch,” Louis winced, prodding his chest gently.  “Yep, right in the feelings.  Harry, kiss it better?” he pouted childishly, turning to Harry, who grinned.  

“You wish,” he said smugly, and Louis’s eyebrows waggled.  

“Oh, you know it!”  

“I swear to God…” Liam muttered, rolling his eyes.  

“Whatever!” Niall called as he hauled his bags to the bedroom.  “If you need me, I’ll be unpacking like a good lad.”  

“Mummy will be so proud!” Liam called with laugh before Niall slammed the door.  

“Harry, which bathroom do you want me to use?” he asked, turning to Harry.  

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry mumbled vaguely, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the television screen.  Louis snickered; the things television did to that boy...Even at boot camp, he would zone out completely the moment his eyes fell upon a screen.  Luckily, Louis had had over a decade of experience with telling kids off for sitting in front of a telly all day.  

“Harry Styles, if you don’t tear your eyes off that screen this second, then you’re not getting any crackers for snack.”  The moment the words left his lips, Louis knew he had sounded foolish, but that was the threat that had always worked with his little sisters.  Things might be different for a sixteen-year-old boy, however.  Sure enough, Harry snorted with laughter and only focused more carefully on the television set.  Liam sighed and heaved his things to the bedroom in pursuit of Niall.  

“Come on, Harry, if you don’t move your arse, Niall’s going to move it for you.” Louis said knowingly, standing up and wrapping his fingers around Harry’s wrist.  “We’re going  _now!”_

"No,” Harry grunted, his lower lip jutting out in a severe pout as his eyebrows furrowed in determination.  

“Harry...” Louis warned, his fingers tightening around the lad’s wrist.  

“Not moving,” Harry smirked, a sly smile working its way onto his rosy lips.  Louis rolled his eyes, sighing slightly as he repressed a smile.  

“Liam!” Louis hollered.  “Liam, we’ve got ourselves an emergency!  The entire universe is at stake!”  Liam came bounding out of the bedroom, his eyes wide with alarm.  

“What happened?” he panted, eyeing Louis anxiously.  

“Harry won’t get his lazy arse off the couch,” Louis cried dramatically, flinging his arms over the curly-haired boy and pretending to sob.  

“Ew, Louis!” Harry groaned, but he was laughing, his cheeks tingeing with pink.  Liam’s shoulders slumped, and his face grew weary.  

“Whatever,” he grumbled.  “You’re not gonna shut up about this, are you?”  

“Nope,” Louis grinned, looking up at him.  

“Fine.  Harry, get up, or I’m calling Simon.  And you know he doesn’t like to be bothered.”  

“Ugh, you guys are the worst,” Harry moaned, climbing to his feet and shoving Louis off of him.  “Come on, let’s go get your fruit snacks.”  Louis gasped with delight.  

“You brought me my Boobears?”  

“Course,” Harry beamed.  "Couldn't have a nervous breakdown from you on our holiday, could we?" Louis rolled his eyes as he scampered after Harry and into the kitchen.

“I love Boobears,” Louis sighed happily as he crammed a handful of bear-shaped gummies into his mouth.  

“I know,” Harry grinned.  “You had like, eighty packs at boot camp.”  

“Hey, don’t insult my relationship with my Boos and my Bears,” Louis said defensively, clutching the packet to his chest.  “I want more,” he added stubbornly, grabbing another pack and tipping its contents into his mouth.  

“Watch out,” Harry said, watching him.  “Eat too much, and soon  _you’ll_ be a Boobear.” 

“That would be my dream,” Louis beamed happily.  “ I could complete my lifelong ambition of eating my toes!  And it would all be thanks to you for buying me my Boobears.”  

“Yeah, I buy them, so they’re technically mine,” Harry smiled.  “Therefore, you are my Boobear.  I own you and your gummy toes.”  

“Fine,” Louis grumbled, “As long as I can eat my fruit snacks.”  

“Help!” Liam’s voice echoed from down the hall.  “Help me, lads!”  

“What’s wrong?” Louis bellowed through a mouthful of Boobears.  

“Niall’s gone on the rampage!  He’s trying to eat my toes!”  

“Oops,” Louis chuckled.  “I think I jinxed them.”  

“Just one bite, Liam, I’m starving!” Niall was begging.  

“No!  Get away, you hungry leprechaun!”  

“Come on,” Harry smirked, hurrying to the bedroom to shove Niall off of Liam and take him to the kitchen before he ate the band.  

“Whoa, whoa, no way in hell am I sleeping there after…after  _that_  happened.” Louis threw his hands in the air, backing away as they entered the guestroom to see Niall with his head literally crammed into a bag of crisps, the edge of the cellophane cuffing round his shoulders.  Broken pieces and crumbles of salty crisps were falling about the sheets, disappearing into the creases of the fabric.  

“I’ll second that,” Harry grimaced, rushing over to the bed, his hands hovering helplessly over the Irish boy.  “Niall, keep in mind that this house belongs to my  _step-dad,_ not me!  You’re getting grease all over.”  

“Awh, c’mon, you two are gonna make me sleep in the same bed as this cannibal?” Liam exclaimed, his eyes widening.  Harry and Louis exchanged a mischievous glance, clearly very pleased with themselves.  

“Hah!  Sucks for you, mate,” Louis grinned.  “Guess you’re stuck with me, Harry,” he added, slinging his arms playfully around Harry’s shoulders, his bare skin very warm on the back of Harry’s cool neck, sending goose pimples erupting across his own skin.  He flung his own arm around Lou’s shoulder and scampered off to the bedroom in order to chose his side of the bed.  Yes, that’s right, bedsides were exceedingly important to Harry.  Apparently, the same idea was in Louis’s head, because he gasped before lurching ahead of Harry and grinned as he flopped onto the left side of the huge mattress.  

“No!” Harry shouted indignantly, stomping his foot as he hurried into the room.  

“Yes!” Louis grinned happily.  

“I need the left side!” Harry insisted.  

“You need some discipline!” Louis corrected, sticking his nose pompously in the air and crossing his legs on the bed.  

“That’s it,” Harry growled, his eyes narrowing as he leaned into a crouch.  Louis’s face blackened as he realized what was coming.  Harry launched himself headfirst onto the mattress, landing onto of Louis and tackling him.  

“Help, help me!” Louis laughed as Harry dug his fingers into his sides, tickling him.  “Liam!  Liam, save me!”  

“Do you surrender?” Harry shouted over Louis’s screeches.  

“Never!” Louis declared between chuckles.  

“Oh, really?” Harry grinned darkly, and Louis gasped for breath.  

“Harry!  What did Simon say about molesting other contestants?”  A loud, strict voice rang in Harry’s ears, and his head spun round to see Liam Standing awkwardly in the doorway, Niall’s arms wrapped around his leg, his stomach flat on the floor.  

“Just one bite!” He was continuously begging, agitation plain on his face.  

“No! Get off, Niall!” Liam exclaimed with a laugh.  

“Fine, fine,” Niall muttered, picking himself up off the floor and making a dash for the kitchen.  “I’ll have some of Lou’s Boobears.”  

“What?” Louis exclaimed.  “Niall, no!  Not the Boos!”  And as if he had just been given a shot of adrenaline, he threw Harry off of him and leaped off of the bed, running after Niall and screaming, “I still get the left side, Harry!”  Harry frowned with a huff, crossing his arms, his face scrunching into a most unpleasant expression.  Liam smirked and hurried out of the room, most likely to salvage his things before hurricane Niall wreaked havoc on his own room.  

"All better," Louis grinned happily as he marched back into the room, yet another pack of fruit snacks in his palm.  Harry rolled his eyes, standing up and traipsing to the closet.  

"What side of the closet do you want, Lou?" he asked, sliding the doors open.

"I guess I’ll take the right side.” Louis replied thoughtfully.

 “Brilliant,” Harry said, turning to unzip his suitcase and begin stowing his things in the closet.  “Want to help me out?” he added, sensing that Louis still stood behind him.  

“I’d love to, my fine-arse friend,” Louis grinned, and Harry laughed. 

“My arse has nothing on yours, Lou,” he pretended to sigh, although he did admit—more than once, he had found himself jealous of Louis’s backside.  There was no denying that it was worthy of admiration, whatever that meant.  

“Whatever,” Lou rolled his eyes, strolling into the room and smacking Harry’s bottom playfully, causing Harry to yelp in surprise and lurch forward, conjuring a laugh out of Lou.  “Yep, it is confirmed that  _that_  is one nice bum,” Louis said somberly, bending to unzip his own suitcase.  Harry muttered darkly, turning towards Lou should he sneak up behind him again, and grabbing a few folded hoodies from his suitcase.  “Jesus, Harry, Jack Wills much?” Louis asked with a laugh as Harry carefully stacked his clothing on a shelf.  

“I like my Wills, yes,” Harry sniffed, smiling slightly.  “And you’re one to talk about brands.  Holy mother of God, just how many pairs of  Toms do you own?” For Harry’s eyes had widened with surprise as he looked down at Louis’s suitcase to see rows upon rows of the flat shoes sitting atop the clothes.  

“Seven pairs, but I only brought five,” Louis admitted sadly, as if this were some sort of crime.  Harry shook his head in disbelief, wandering over to Lou’s suitcase to inspect the shoes.  

“Denim, Houndstooth, corduroy, stripes, twill—Louis, I think you have a bit of a problem,” Harry exclaimed with amazement, his eyes round with surprise as he eyed the shoes.  

“These are my favourite,” Louis grinned sheepishly, pointing to the pair of familiar red canvas Toms on his feet, and Harry immediately recognized them from their time at Boot camp.  

“How come?” he asked curiously.  

“Because…Because I was wearing them when I met you lot,” Louis confessed, his cheeks tingeing with color as he shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced embarrassedly at the floor.  

“D’awh, Louis!” Harry cooed, grinning as he grabbed Louis’s neck in the crook of his elbow and mussed his hair playfully.  

“Harry, get off,” Louis laughed, the color in his cheeks deepening as the blood rushed to his face.  

“You know you love it,” Harry teased, grinning, and Louis sighed with mock-sadness, a smile working its way onto his lips.  

“I have to admit that I do,” He pretended to sign in defeat, and Harry laughed smugly.  

“I know!” he hollered as he leaped out of the bedroom and into the kitchen for a pack of Boobears.  It was a bit strange, he thought, a broad grin still on his face as he tore open a pack of fruit snacks and popped one or two into his mouth.  He couldn’t remember ever, ever being so happy in Holmes Chapel.  Here, he was laughing, smiling, and joking around without having to fake any of it.  Despite the fact that he hadn’t done so in a long while, the whole experience just felt…Natural to him.  As he sat there, listening to Louis screech with intentional horribleness his revised version of “Louis in the Sky with Diamonds,” and the sounds of Liam and Niall arguing over football teams, he realized that these boys just might be the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

 

⤞✧⤝

 

_One bowl of Curiously Cinnamon, two bowls of Curiously Cinnamon, three bowls of Curiously Cinnamon…_

Either Louis was in heaven or he was having a very fabulous dream.  

_Cinnamon, sugar, cinnamon, sugar…_

Yes, he must be in heaven.  Or was he… 

He felt a very vague, dull sensation somewhere on his body, something slightly painful yet something very warm and soothing at the same time.  

 _Is my cereal kicking me again?_ He wondered, an indistinct feeling of irritation as a second strange sensation alerted him, this one sharper and more pronounced than the last.  

 _That’s the last time I’m eating you with my special spoon,_ he thought childishly, the image of the cereal in his head.  

 _Ow!_   A third feeling came into contact with his skin, this one quite painful.  His eyes flew open, and as the very dark shadows of a bedroom came into view before his blurred eyes.  He blinked slowly, wondering what had been the cause of his pain.  He started slightly as he heard the rustling of sheets beside him, and he turned his head on the pillow to see a heap of white blankets tangled around a pair of strong, tanned limbs and a muss of curly brown hair.  

 _Harry,_ he realized dimly, and he smiled faintly as he watched the sleeping boy’s face crumple slightly in his slumber, a small frown creasing his lips and forehead.  It was fascinating to Louis how a person’s face transformed when they were unconscious, something he had continuously attempted in his acting but had never managed to accomplish.  He slid his hands behind his head, relaxing as his eyes focused on the gentle pout on Harry’s mouth.  He wondered what he was dreaming about.  His eyes widened slightly as his pink lips parted and a loud snore drifted into the air.  Louis crammed his fist into his mouth, struggling very hard not to laugh and wake him.  By God, he was a  _bad_  snorer.  

 _And I thought_ I  _was horrible,_ Louis thought, snickering into his hand as Harry snored again.  Before Louis could blink, he gasped with pain as Harry spastically flopped in the sheets, and his fist came into contact with Louis’s stomach, causing him to lurch dramatically and curl around Harry’s hand, his face reddening with surprise.  Well, apparently, Harry was not only a snorer, but apparently had the tendency to toss and turn.

 _Fantastic,_ Louis groaned mentally, although in all honesty, he was highly amused by the situation.  It was sweet how Harry acted like such a cool, dignified lad when he was awake, and when he asleep and let his guard down… Louis laughed quietly as Harry rolled over, another loud snore escaping his lips as he did so.  A few moments later, Louis frowned slightly in confusion as Harry curled up tightly on his side, his forehead creased with anxiety, and let out a small whimper.  Was he having a nightmare?  Suddenly, Harry scooted on his side across the mattress and over to Louis, emitting small whimpers with every movement.  Louis gaped in surprise as Harry’s fist tightened around the sheets, clutching them around his shoulders, his face full of distress, and he nuzzled closely into Louis’s side, spearing warmth throughout Louis’s chest.  

 _Poor lad,_ Louis thought sympathetically.  He was only searching for some comfort.  Louis’s arm hovered hesitantly over the boy before he slowly settled it across Harry’s shoulders, patting them carefully.  As they lay there, Louis gradually grew more and more relaxed; the situation reminded him of home, whenever the power went out and Fizzy would crawl into bed beside him, both hiding beneath the sheets as they waited for the darkness to ebb away.  As Louis held Harry, patting his back and hushing him quietly as Harry let out more pathetic whimpers, he felt closer to home than he had since arriving at Boot camp a few weeks ago, and he was incredibly grateful for it.  

“Need…Need the left…side…” Harry mumbled vaguely in his sleep, and Louis chuckled, realizing his restlessness was due to his desire to sleep on  _his_ side of the bed.  At the sound of his laughter, Harry’s frown deepened, and Louis watched with trepidation as his eyelashes fluttered and the bright, startling green of his irises shone in the darkness.  

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” Louis smirked. 

“Lou?” Harry croaked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he noticed just how close the two of them were.  "Why'd you wake me up?"

“Finished with that nightmare, are we?” Louis laughed quietly in reply, his voice ringing through the silent night. 

“Yeah,” Harry sighed.  “Sorry, I’m a bit of a wrestler.”  

“And a snorer, but s’alright,” Louis grinned, and Harry smiled.  He did not question why Louis had his arm around him, or why he was so closely nestled into his chest.  He simply closed his eyes and lay his head back down on the sheets.  

“Harry, do you by any chance want to trade sides?” Louis asked sarcastically.  The lad’s eyes flew open once more.  

“Oh, yes, please!” he begged in a whisper, looking up at Louis with pleading eyes, and Louis laughed, tapping his chin and pretending to ponder.  

“Well…I suppose I could arrange something…”  

“I will do  _anything,_ Lou!” Harry whined.  

“Hm.  Sure, I’ll switch sides with you.  If you agree to be my personal slave for twenty-four hours.”  

“ _What?_ ”  

“Take it or leave it, curly,” Louis grinned, slapping his hand playfully on Harry’s back and mussing his floppy curls.  

“Fine,” Harry grumbled.  “Quick question.  Does that involve sexual services?” He joked, his eyebrows waggling.  

“Oh, you wish it did, Styles!” Louis snickered, and Harry rolled his eyes, smiling.  

“G’night,” he yawned, pressing his palm to his mouth, and resting his head on the mattress.  

“Night, Harry.  And try to keep your fist away from my stomach, thanks very much.”  

“Just be glad it was your stomach,” Harry muttered darkly as his voice faded and his face transformed, slipping back into slumber.  Louis smirked before laying his own head back down on the pillow, giving Harry a gentle pat goodnight, and closing his eyes. 

 

⤞✧⤝

 

“C’mon, lads!  Quit your cuddling and rise and shine, it’s a beautiful day and we’ve got a service station waiting for us to give them our money!”  Harry groaned as a cheerful Irish voice chirped to the room, followed by the sound of feet as the owner of the voice did some sort of spastic dance.  What on earth… Harry flung an arm through the air, frowning with surprise as it thudded loudly into something warm and strong, rather than the soft linens of the bed.  His yes creaked slowly open to see a broad shape lying beside him, composed of muscular, brawny arms and a head full of soft, caramel coloured, feathery hair.  …Louis?  

Harry slowly sat up, and as he did so Louis’s arm fell limply to the bed, dragging past Harry’s back, and Harry realized that the lad had had his arm around him all night.  Frowning with confusion, he remembered the earlier event of his snoring and smirked slightly, knowing he must have annoyed Lou.  The way he had cuddled up to him, Harry knew, was out of comfort.  Really, Lou had been asking for it, he  _had_  insisted that he take the left side of the bed.  Well, now it was his, in exchange for…for being Louis’s personal slave for the day.   _Brilliant,_ he thought with a groan, and he smacked Louis’s bare shoulder, shoving him into consciousness.  

“Wake up, silly,” he grinned as Louis’s bright blue eyes opened slowly and he blinked against the bright morning light.  

“Yeah, wake up!” Harry glanced up to see Niall shouting eagerly to them from the doorway as he performed some sort of hyper Irish jig.  “You have to drive us to the service station for breakfast!”  

“You can bloody well drive yourselves,” Louis growled, throwing a tanned arm over his eyes and rolling over, his bare back facing Harry.  

“No,” Niall rolled his eyes, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.  “None of us are of age yet.  You’re the only one allowed to drive here.”  

“Mrmph,” Louis groaned unattractively into his pillow as he flopped over onto his belly.  Harry and Niall exchanged serious nods, and Harry rose to hit feet, walking awkwardly over the mattress and placing one foot on Louis’s back.  “Mm…What’s that…” Louis mumbled in confusion, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow.  With a grin, Harry placed all his weight on his foot and climbed onto Lou’s back, crouching down and smacking him on the side of the head.  “Ow!  Harry, get off, you’re heavy!” Louis yelped, raising his head and suddenly looking quite awake.  

“Will you get out of bed?” Harry asked sweetly.  

“You’re worse than my mum,” Louis grumbled, shoving Harry off of him and climbing slowly out of bed.  Harry and Niall grinned, success in their faces.  “I hate mornings, I hate mornings, I hate mornings…” Louis growled to himself as he walked to the bathroom, his hair distinctly disheveled and sticking out in all directions, the light shining dully off of his bare torso and legs.  

“Looks like you two got your cuddle bugs on,” Niall smirked at Harry as Louis left, and Harry rolled his eyes.  Ordinarily, he might have been embarrassed to be caught in such an intimate position with another lad, but Louis was just different that way, the freak, Harry thought with a grin.  Physical contact didn’t seem too awkward or uncomfortable, and this let Harry know that they were going to have a very good friendship.  

“Whatever,” Harry said off-handedly, leaping off of the bed and grabbing Niall’s shoulder for balance as he landed.  

“Yay, now we just have to wake Liam up!” Niall said determinedly, and Harry smiled.  It would be good to have such an eager, happy-go-lucky lad in their new band; it would keep their energies going.  What with Niall’s carelessness and Louis’s outstanding sense of humour, Harry knew that this was going to a be a fantastic experience.  Niall crashed out of the bedroom, knocking over a potted plant as he did so.  

“Oi, what did I say about not breaking my house?” Harry bellowed after him.  “We want to keep things clean before Zayn gets here!”  The Bradford boy would be arriving in two days time, due to some sort of family business back home.  

“Yes, mum!” Niall called vaguely as he ran into the bedroom he and Liam shared.  As Harry walked into the kitchen, he heard an angry, distant “ _Niall_!” echo from the room, and he grinned.  As he sat, he slowly felt his energy dropping.  He swallowed nervously, glancing down at his watch.  It was half past eight.  

Nodding slightly to himself, Harry rose and rummaged through his duffel bag, digging through the piles of socks and boxers, until he caught sight of a particular bundle of socks with a strange, cylindrical shape to them.  Careful to keep quiet, Harry tugged the roll of socks from the back and, from their depths, slid a small, familiar white pill bottle.  Looking over his shoulder, he popped open the lid and tapped a small pink pill forward onto his palm.  Before anyone could stroll into the room and interrupt him, he pressed his palm to his open lips and, taking a large gulp, swallowed the pill dry.  He closed his eyes, a minuscule wave of shame filling his head.  As he heard Niall singing cheerfully to Liam, however, the bad mood slowly faded, leaving a calm, relaxed expression on Harry’s face.   _That should take care of business,_ he thought wearily as he trudged into the kitchen.  

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he laughed as he walked in on a scowling Louis, mocking him from the other night.  

“Watch it, I’m not good with mornings,” Louis shot back warily; his usually blue eyes a deep shade of green. 

“I can tell.  By the way, you have freaky eyes.” Harry said with a satisfied little smirk.  

“Oh, thanks, pal,” Louis said sarcastically.  

“No, really.  Your eyes are green today.”  

“As opposed to…”  

“Well, I noticed that they're usually blue, is all.” Harry shrugged.  

“Aw, did ickle Harry-kins like my eyes?” Louis cooed with a grin, leaving over the kitchen counter to pinch Harry’s cheek, and Harry rolled his eyes, laughing.  “C’mon, put on a shirt and trousers.  We gotta get to that service station before Niall kidnaps one of us.” Harry said over his shoulder as he left the kitchen to get dressed.  

“What, you don’t enjoy my sexy body?” Louis yelled after him, pretending to sound incredulous.  

“Never said that!” Harry replied with a grin.  “Now get a shirt on that sexy body before I  _make_ you.”  

"Yeah, yeah,” Louis called, his voice growing annoyed once more, and Harry smirked.  

“Harry, are you ready yet?” Niall shouted, and Harry sighed, not bothering to reply as he grabbed a roomy Hollister hoodie from his organized stack of clothes in the closet, which contrasted horrifically with the mangled pile of shirts and chinos lying hap-hazardly among the shelves of Louis’s side.  Well, if he had learned one thing about his new roommate in the past twenty-four hours, it was that he was no neat Nellie.  He cringed as he stepped over heaps of scarves, sweaters, and trousers, scattered across the floor.  It seemed like the only thing Louis took enough time to actually take care of were his many pairs of TOMS, which were very, very carefully aligned on the floor of the closet and looked to be organized by color.  Harry smirked, tugging on a pair of destroyed jeans and his hoodie before stepping into a pair of white Converse and heading for the common room.  

“Ooh, someone’s looking flashy!” Louis grinned, bopping Harry’s hip as he passed him in the hall.  He was still in nothing but his boxers, goose pimples now dotting the tan skin across his chest and shoulders.  

“Put something on, I’m going blind!” Harry yelped, laughing.  

“I know, I’m simply too damn hot, aren’t I?” Louis sighed with mock frustration, and Harry rolled his eyes.  

“Keep dreaming, beautiful.  Hurry up, Niall’s about to shoot Liam, by the sound of it.”  Niall was indeed hollering his lungs out in the bedroom, something along the lines of “Put the shoes on, and no one gets hurt!”  Louis nodded his head thoughtfully and clapped Harry on the shoulder before hurrying off to his and Harry’s bedroom to change. 

“Save me, Harry!” A high, cracked voice yelped, and Harry turned in time to see Liam flying towards him before tackling him to the floor.  

“Ouch,” Harry groaned, his head throbbing as it hit the hardwood.  

“Oops,” Liam grinned down at him, his hands on either side of his head.  

“Yeah,  _oops_ ,” Harry stuttered, the wind knocked out of him.  “Liam…What’s going on?”  

“Niall stole my toothbrush and he’s threatening to drive to Wolverhampton and clean my turtle’s shell with it!  Turtles’ shells can only be cleaned using a specifically prescribed organic cleansing wax. My baby is in danger!”  

“Calm down, Liam, he can’t actually drive there without getting in big trouble with Simon.  That’s why we had to wake up the sleeping giant, remember?” Harry croaked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder in Louis’s direction.  

“I heard that, Harry, and I’m not forgetting it!” Louis’s voice carried down the hallway.  

“Good for you,” Harry called back with a smile, and Louis drowned him out by resuming “Louis in the Sky with Diamonds,” his sweet voice careening through the bungalow.  

“Just don’t let Niall hurt my turtles,” Liam whispered anxiously, grinning and pecking Harry quickly on the forehead before standing up and dashing off to the bedroom to restrain Niall.  

“Oi!  Did I just see Liam’s lips on  _my_  slave’s forehead?” A high, sweet voice chorused to Harry, and as Harry blinked, still flat on the floor, Louis’s figure loomed above him, eyebrows raised with suspicion.  Harry grinned.  

“Why, is there a problem?”  

“All I’m saying is,” Louis said nonchalantly, his lips pursing.  “Is that this forehead now belongs to me.” And he grinned as he bent and smacked his own lips playfully on Harry’s forehead.  “Fine,” Harry sighed, shoving Louis away with a snicker and standing up.  

“My forehead is owned.”  

“Hey, if I’m your Boobear, then that’s my forehead.” Louis said sassily, turning on his heel, hips sashaying dramatically.  Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and starting for the door.  Yes, this would be a fun experience for the lot of them.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

“Hey, guys, it’s Zayn!  Zayn’s here!” Louis grinned, his face and palms smudged tightly against the window, his nose upturned on glass, as he caught sight of a black SUV pulling into the driveway.  He snickered as Zayn climbed out of the car, spotted Louis’s smooshed face through the glass, and blinked in surprise, his dark, rosy lips pursing slightly in alarm.  Louis backed away from the window, offering Zayn a cheerful wave, and he and Liam dashed out the front door to greet the newcomer.  Louis had already been having a fabulous time with his new band mates, and in his mind, the addition of yet another friend would only increase his enjoyment. 

The whole experience had been nothing short of amazing for the Doncaster lad so far.  He was living his dream of slowly working his way up to performing, and he was living it with four of the best guys he could imagine.   _Especially Harry,_ he thought happily as he dashed through the front garden to the black SUV.  He and the Cheshire boy had been getting along brilliantly, teasing each other, making jokes, and building their friendship as they did so.  Louis had only ever had a friend like that once, and that was his childhood mate Stan, whom he had known for years upon years.  If he and Harry were such good friends over the course of a week, that had to mean something, right?  

Louis was exceedingly grateful for everything that had happened since boot camp, yet he had learned through life that things can only run so smoothly before something goes wrong, bringing every toppling down with it.  Louis had been slightly edgy for days, just waiting for something to ruin the fun and luck he had been experiencing.  Now, however he would push all that behind and welcome their newest band member into their hectic household.  

Over the three days the lads had been living in the bungalow, they had quickly learned a lot about each other, including where they all stood in the ‘band fam,’ as they liked to call their little group.  Louis, being the eldest, acted a sort of supervisor, even if he was the most immature of the lot, and he was the one who typically took care of emails and phone calls from  _The X Factor_ staff, as well as making trips to the service station when necessary.  Liam and Harry typically acted as housewives, doing laundry, cleaning up messes, and occasionally trying to cook, whenever they were feeling brave enough.  Niall was the spastic, carefree leprechaun who took everything life had to offer him with a smile and a laugh, and he always seemed to be bouncing about whenever there was work to be done.  Louis wondered as he scampered over to the SUV, Liam in close pursuit, which role Zayn would take on in their strange family.  

“Ello!” Louis grinned, stopping abruptly in front of Zayn.  

“Hi,” Zayn murmured shyly, his deep, smooth voice ringing through the chilly morning air.  Louis’s lips pursed slightly as he remembered that Zayn was an introvert and would be a tough shell to crack, but Louis being Louis, he wouldn’t stop until he broke the boy’s shy composure and brought out the goofy, fun side of him, because hey, everyone’s got one, right?  These were the kind of missions Louis lived for.  

“I’m Louis!  But we’ve already met, so you probably already know that,” Louis smiled, sticking his hand out.  Zayn shook it hesitantly, a tiny smile lining his dark lips.  

“I’m…I’m Zayn,” he muttered.  

“We know,” Liam smiled, hopping to Louis’s side.  “Hope Lou didn’t terrorize you too much.”  

“S’alright.  It’s Liam, right?”  

“Yeah,” Liam said, holding out his own hand to shake Zayn’s.  Louis crossed his arms, huffing slightly.  Good old sensible Liam was making Lou look like he was  _weird,_ or something.  As if… 

“C’mon, Harry’s making chicken for dinner.  Maybe, if we’re lucky, he won’t burn the house down,” Louis smirked, grabbing one of Zayn’s duffel bags and starting for the house.  Zayn glanced at Liam, who grinned and scooped up another bag, while Zayn waved goodbye to the driver of the SUV and started after the pair of them.  “Oh, boys!” Louis sang happily as he stepped into the bungalow.  “We’ve got a visitor!”  

“Louis, I  _told_  you not to call 118-118 again—Oh!  Hey, Zayn,” Harry smiled as he glanced up from the kitchen, looking somewhat ridiculous in large pink oven mitts and a frilly white apron.  

“Awh, Harold, what’s wrong?  Was the Stay-At-Home store out of sundresses?” Louis teased him, striding into the kitchen and tugging on the hem of the apron.  Niall let out a hoot of laughter, his face reddening as he collapsed into a chair, clutching his stomach with chuckles. Harry grinned, bumping Louis’s head with his own and nodding him out of the kitchen.  

“Harry, where should Zayn stay?  All the bedrooms are full,” Liam pointed out as he leaned in the doorway of the kitchen.  

“Erm…Well, it’s up to him, really.  You could stay on the couch in the common room or we can blow up an air mattress,” Harry said to Zayn, offering him a comforting smile.  

“I guess I could take an air mattress,” Zayn said thoughtfully.  

“Then it’s settled!” Louis grinned, clapping his hands together and starting for a door off the hallway. 

“Lou, you don’t even know where the mattresses are,” Harry called after him, smiling slightly as he shook his head.  

“I will never face defeat!” Louis called vaguely, his voice distant as he traveled throughout the bungalow in search of an air mattress.  

“So, erm, what have you guys been, you know, up to?” Zayn asked uncomfortably as he slid slowly onto a barstool, his eyes locked on his feet.  

“Oh, loads,” Niall said happily, scampering across the kitchen as Harry shooed him away from the frying pan he was working over.  “Trying out harmonies on the guitar, going to KFC, playing football, stuff like that.”  

“Yeah, and today we’re going swimming after lunch,” Liam said happily, nodding to himself as he leaned back in his kitchen chair.  Harry watched as Zayn’s face blackened at the word “swimming.”  What was wrong?  

“Oi, you okay?” Liam asked anxiously, watching Zayn’s expression.  

“Erm…Yeah,” Zayn muttered, going slightly red as he ducked his head.  What was so bad about swimming?  “I just…I’m not a fan of the water,” Zayn mumbled embarrassedly.  

“That’s alright!” Niall said happily.  “I’m not a big swimmer either.  We can spend the time chucking grapes at the lads while they play water football!”  Zayn glanced up, his chocolate-colored eyes glinting in the light of the kitchen, and a small smile curled his lips.  

“Feeling a bit shy?” Liam smiled sympathetically.  Zayn pursed his lips in reply.  

“Don’t worry,” Harry grinned.  “Louis will break you out of your shell in no time.  He’s….Interesting.” He smiled goofily at the thought of his new best mate, and, right on cue, a holler echoed throughout the bungalow, followed by the patter of footsteps as Louis came bounding into the kitchen, an enormous, deflated mattress draped over his body.  

“I’m the ghost of inflatable air mattresses past!” He said ominously, stomping his feet and waving his arms in the air.  

“The proof’s in the pudding,” Liam shrugged, giving Zayn a knowing look.  

“Ooooh, I’m the ghost of—Ow!  Who was that?  Who?” Louis demanded as he ran smack into Harry, causing the two of them to stumble slightly.  

“Lou,” Harry complained, though he was laughing as he set down his spatula and put a hand on Louis’s shoulder.  

“Oh, hello there, Harry!  And how is my darling forehead today?” Louis asked happily.  Zayn raised his eyebrows in confusions, but Liam and Niall only rolled their eyes.  

“It feels unkissed,” Harry pouted, smiling as eyed Louis’s mattress charade.  

“Uh-oh!  That’s not good.  Come here, forehead!” Louis shouted, stumbling blindly for Harry, who laughed and began swatting playfully at Louis.  

“Careful, lads!”  Liam shouted over their ruckus.  “Someone’s going to get—” 

“Ah!” Harry exclaimed in pain, his eyes widening and his cheeks paling as he jumped, grabbing his right arm in his wrist.  

“Hurt,” Liam sighed.

“…Harry?” Louis asked from behind his mattress.  “What happened?”  

“Burned myself,” Harry muttered, wincing horribly as he eyed the angry, raw mark blooming across his forearm.  

“Oh, god, that’s my fault.  I’m sorry!” Louis began, ripping the mattress off of his head and gazing anxiously down at the red skin.  

“Nah, it was my—”  

“No, no, this is my bad.  Are you okay?” Louis asked fretfully.  “Come on, we need to run that under cold water!”  Alarm crossed Harry’s face as Louis grabbed his hand and jerked him towards the sink.  

“Lou, I can walk—”  

“Shut up,” Louis commanded firmly as he turned on a gentle trickle of cold water and wrapped his fingers around Harry’s wrist, pulling it forward and carefully holding his arm beneath the water.  Harry sighed with relief.  

“Thanks,” he breathed.  “That feels better.”  

“I’m sorry,” Louis mumbled guiltily.  

“Louis, it’s not your fault,” Harry laughed weakly.  “And honestly, it’s not that bad…” They all glanced down at the fire-engine red mark on Harry’s arm, and winced—the skin had begun to pucker.  

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Liam admitted, and Harry shot him a pointed look.  

“Its okay, I know what you need.” Louis muttered determinedly.  “Sit,” he said, dragging Harry to a kitchen chair and pushing him down onto the wooden seat.  Well, it seemed like Louis had taken total charge.  He disappeared into Harry’s bathroom and returned a moment later with a bottle of aloe Vera gel.  He reentered the kitchen to see Harry flinching horribly as Niall poked the burn, grinning.  

“Look, it can change colour!  Red, white, red, white, red, whi—”  

“Niall!” Louis exclaimed angrily.  “Out!”  

“Fine,” Niall grumbled, grabbing Liam’s arm on his way out of the kitchen, whipping the pair of them around the corner.  Zayn hesitated slightly before walking after them.  

“Louis, really, it’s fine,” Harry mumbled embarrassedly as Louis knelt beside Harry, a look of concentration on his face.  

“Shut it, Harry, I know it hurts,” he rolled his eyes, glumping a glob of green aloe Vera into his palm.  “This may sting a bit,” he warned guiltily as he tugged Harry’s arm forward into his lap and gently ran two fingers coated in the gel across the puckered burn, and Harry winced slightly, but otherwise calmed.  “I’m sorry, sorry!” Louis chanted anxiously, rubbing the gel carefully over the burn.  

“It’s fine,” Harry laughed in relief, smiling slightly as the pain in his arm faded.  “It feels loads better.  How’d you know to do that?”

“I have a lot of sisters,” Louis admitted, smiling crookedly up into Harry’s green eyes.  

“Really?” Harry asked, intrigued.  “How many?”  

“Four,” Louis shrugged.  “There’s Lottie, the oldest, and then I’ve got Fizzy, and Daisy and Phoebe.  They’re twins.”  Harry smiled as Louis spoke.  

“You love them.” He stated.  “I can tell.”  Louis turned a slight shade of pink as he thought of his little sisters.  He really missed them, he realized; he had never been away from them for so long before.  

“Yeah,” he said, sighing slightly.  “You’d like them.”  

“I’m sure I would.  All I’ve got is Gemma, and she’s two years older than me.”  

“So, she’s my age,” Louis grinned, eyebrows waggling.  “Maybe  _I_ would like  _her._ ”  He waited for Harry to laugh and tease him, but somehow, Harry only muttered darkly, looking away from the lad at his feet.  What had he said?  It must have been some serious sibling rivalry.  “I’m kidding,” Louis snickered.  “Best mate’s sisters are strictly off-limits.  So, that means no Lottie for you,” he grinned, pretending to sound stern as he tapped Harry on the nose, and Harry smiled slightly, cheered.  

“I guess that’s that plan squashed,” he sighed with mock-sadness, and Louis rolled his eyes, slightly perturbed.  “Thanks, Lou.  For, you know.”  Harry mumbled, gesturing to his red forearm, now coated with the green gel.  

“No problem, mate.  What are friends for?” he grinned, clapping Harry on the knee, and Harry grinned in reply.  “I’m still waiting on the forehead kiss,” he added childishly, and Harry rolled his eyes, the corners of his lips turned up in a smile, and he leaned forward to allow Louis to clamp Harry’s head in his palms and peck his lips to his forehead grinning goofily all the while.  

“My forehead feels dominated,” Harry grinned, mussing Louis’s feathery hair as he leaned away.  

“Good.  It should,” Louis smiled satisfactorily as he stood up and held out a hand to help Harry to his feet.  Their fingers intertwined, and Louis yanked him upright, causing Harry to wince and rub his shoulder.  Louis laughed, ushering him back to the griddle.  “Hurry!  I am craving chicken!” he said urgently, and Harry sighed, picking up his spatula and resuming his cooking.  

 _Yes,_  Louis thought, whizzing around the corner to help the others with the air mattress.   _Life is good._

 

_⤞✧⤝_

 


	6. Lego House

⤞✧⤝

 

Thirteen days had passed since Harry, Louis, Niall, Zayn, and Liam had crossed the threshold of the bungalow; thirteen insane days full of Boobears, Toms, admittedly terrible cooking, forehead kisses, swimming, grape wars, and a quite a bit of thrashing and snoring committed by a certain Harry Styles in the late hours of the night. 

“Harry!” Louis sighed sleepily as Harry’s knuckles smacked into his jaw for what felt like the hundredth time. 

“Mmm…No…Niall, not the laptop…You’ll be electrocuted…” Harry mumbled in his sleep.  

“Harry!” Louis hissed, sitting up in bed and rubbing his most recent bruise. 

“Wait…on second thought, go ahead and eat it…Liam, get the video recorder…” Louis couldn’t help but smirk as Harry shouted in his sleep. “No, Louis gets to sit by me…I’m his forehead…” Lou froze as his name whispered from Harry’s lips. He swallowed dryly. 

“Harry, wake up,” he said gruffly, shaking Harry’s bare shoulder; the lads had learned in the past two weeks that Harry absolutely loathed clothing or anything related to clothes, and he went about life wearing as little as possible. He had managed to get away with wearing as little as a pair of briefs around the house, but Liam and Zayn had each put a foot down when Harry had apparently strolled into the kitchen one day wearing absolutely nothing at all. Louis had practically smelt the awkwardness from down the hall, but by the time he had entered the kitchen to see what was going on, Harry had his boxers back on, leaving Zayn and Liam in great relief. Louis had found the whole thing to be highly amusing. Needless to say, he had been mildly impressed when, on the third day of their visit when they had gone swimming, Harry had tugged off his shirt to reveal four nipples; not two, but four. That’s got to be some sort of record, Louis had thought, shaking his head in bafflement as Harry blushed, the other lads teasing him. 

“Good god, man, you’re an animal!” Niall had screeched in surprise, rushing forward to inspect Harry’s chest. “I prefer the term ‘Sexy Beast,’” Harry had grumbled indignantly. “I'll second that!” Louis had vouched with a grin, and Harry had snickered, glowing with embarrassment. 

“Harry?” he whispered now, poking his shoulder again. “Harold. Upsy-Daisy.” 

“Mm? Louis? You’re sitting by me?” Harry’s tone brightened in his slumber as Louis’s voice drifted into his dreams, and Louis rolled his eyes, smiling to himself. 

“Yes, but I won’t if you don’t wake up.” 

“What…No…I’ll wake up, I promise…” Slowly, Harry’s eyes began to flutter open, and the shock of green shone against the grey morning light. “Lou?” he croaked. “That’s so weird, I was just dreaming about…” He trailed off, his cheeks burning slightly with embarrassment. Louis laughed, leaning over Harry as he rested on his elbow. 

“I know, silly. Not only are you a snorer and a turner, but you also sleep-talk.” 

“Do I?” Harry asked anxiously. “That’s just brilliant.” 

“It’s okay, it was funny,” Louis shrugged, laying back down on the pillows beside Harry, warmth sizzling between their shoulders, inches apart. As a cold breeze swept over the two of them, Louis shivered, and he did not hesitate to scoot slightly across the mattress until their bare arms came into contact, and Harry’s smooth, hot skin immediately warmed Lou’s. 

“That’s better,” Harry sighed; he too must have been cold. Louis nodded silently. He didn’t quite understand what was going on. He and Harry were practically best mates by now. It was obvious that they were closer than any of the others in the band, and they had gotten along brilliantly from the get-go. Normally, Louis would have been uncomfortable if he were cuddling up to his mate like this. He had never acted this way with Stan or any of his other friends. Why did he feel so cool and comfortable with Harry? We must have a bloody good friendship, he grinned to himself, pleased that he was lucky enough to have as a great a pal as Harry. Friends like that didn’t come around often, did they? 

“It’s freezing,” Harry grumbled. “Liam likes to leave the windows open at night.” 

“Bloody berk,” Louis chuckled, and Harry laughed, grinning as he nuzzled almost unknowingly closer to Lou, and Lou sighed through his nose as he absorbed the cozy warmth that now fell through him. He had always preferred the heat to the cold, and this situation was no exception. 

“Louis, why’d you wake me up?” Harry asked curiously, a slightly cross tone creeping into his voice. 

“Sorry,” Louis said sheepishly. “You were tossing again.” 

“Uh oh. Did I hit you?” Harry asked anxiously. 

“Only once or twice…or ten…” Louis joked, although this was, in all honesty, no exaggeration. He had countless bruises running along his shins, forearm, and collarbone, all results of Harry’s restlessness. 

“God, I’m sorry. Have I been hitting you this whole trip?” 

“Well, not every night, but…” 

“Louis, why didn’t you say anything?” Harry asked, incredulous. Honestly, Louis hadn’t said anything because not only did he enjoy the late-night entertainment that was provided with Harry’s sleep talking—Once, Harry had apparently dreamed that Zayn was impersonating Oprah, and that Kate Middleton was stalking him for his intestines—But Louis also had a feeling that he would not have been as comfortable sleeping with any of the others lads. As mentioned before, Harry and Louis seemed to have a friendship not often seen, and Louis was grateful for it. He wasn’t about to run off to Zayn’s air mattress and pretend everything was hunky-dory. 

“I dunno, too lazy, I suppose,” he yawned, and Harry tittered with disapproval. 

“Where did I hit you this time?” he asked sternly. 

“Just on my jaw, but really, it’s not a big—” Louis’s voice trailed off into a muffle as Harry’s strong, soft hand suddenly grabbed Louis’s chin, turning it roughly towards him. Louis watched with surprise as those startlingly green eyes roamed over the sore spot on Louis’s jaw, and the corner of his mouth turned down as he ran a thumb carefully over the mark. Louis swallowed again, his eyes locked on Harry’s. 

“Does it hurt?” Harry asked quietly. 

“No,” Louis said honestly. He knew it would later, but for now, it felt fine. 

“Sorry,” Harry sighed, dropping Louis’s chin and laying back down on the pillow, their arms brushing as they squeezed tightly together. 

“It’s okay. Think of this as your revenge for that burn,” Louis chuckled, and Harry rolled his eyes. He still had a long, pink bump running along the length of his forearm, but otherwise, the burn had faded, most likely due to the copious amounts of aloe Louis had forced him to apply to the area every day. 

“What time is it?” Harry asked suddenly, eyeing the dark grey light filtering into the room. 

“Erm…” Louis turned his head to glance at the clock hanging above their bed. “Half past five.” Harry sighed. 

“Niall will be up soon. Curse that morning boy…” 

“You’re telling me,” Louis grumbled, pulling the comforter up to his chin and nestling slightly closer to Harry. He just felt so incredibly comfortable. 

“But hey, it’s our last day here. Guess we better make the most of it,” Harry sighed. Louis’s face fell as he realized he was right. The lads only had one more day of relaxation together before they went back home for a couple of days and were shipped off to the location of their mentor’s house. He wondered who their judge would be, and whether they would like them or not. Sure, the lot had been practicing harmonies together and singing different songs, but they were nowhere near ready to perform together. 

“Scared?” Harry mumbled, speaking Louis’s thoughts. 

“Not really,” Louis said honestly. “I mean, yeah, I’m nervous, for sure, but I’ve got this feeling that we’ll pull through in end, even if things don’t’ quite work out in the beginning.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice full of trepidation. 

“You’re scared, though. I can tell.” Louis said knowingly, turning his head to look Harry in the eye. 

“How?” the lad asked, his eyebrows furrowing and his pink lips jutting forward as they always did when he was confused. Louis smirked slightly before continuing. 

“I dunno. I just… I just can. But I can tell you right now that you’ve got nothing to be afraid of.” Harry swallowed nervously, those green eyes burning into Lou’s before he turned his head, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I’m…I… Well, look at where we are, Lou. We’ve been handed this amazing opportunity. I’ve made it through three rounds of the show, and I’m flying across the world to prove to a judge that Ive got what it takes, and even better—I’m doing it with friends standing beside me. I’m never going to get this chance again, and I’m…I’m just so, so, so scared that I’ll blow it. Not just for me, but for everyone.” He turned back to Louis, his eyes full of anxiety. “I know you’ll understand that better than anyone. You know what’s at steak here.” Louis bit his lip, nodding. He did know. He knew that, with a single movement, their futures as performers could be destroyed forever, that with a shake of a judge’s head, they would all be sent home, out of each other’s lives for good. But Louis wasn’t going to let that happen. 

“Harry, you know I’ve never been one for wishful thinking,” he smiled wryly, and Harry smirked slightly to himself. “I’ve stopped getting my hopes up, because I know I’ll just be let down in the end. But this…This band…This is something special. What happened back there at boot camp, I don’t think it just happened on an off chance. I think…There’s just…This is something real, Harry. And I’m telling you right now that you can bet your fine little arse that I’ll make sure everything comes through in the end.” He finished firmly, smiling a bit as he did so. 

“I don’t want to believe you,” Harry said finally, taking a long, slow breath and glancing up at Louis. “But for some reason, I do. Thanks, Boobear.” 

“No problem,” Louis grinned happily, wrapping Harry in a friendly hug and squeezing the absolute life out of him. Harry gasped, choking slightly, and Louis snickered as he let him fall back onto the pillow, and Louis lay back down beside him. 

“Y’know? I’m really glad I met you, Lou.” Harry said thoughtfully. 

“That’s a relief,” Louis replied sarcastically. “It would suck if we hated each other.” 

“No, really,” Harry chuckled. “We’re good friends, right?” 

“I would hope so,” Louis smirked. “Yeah, I’m just joshing you. We’re buddies,” he grinned, and he wrapped Harry in another friendly, less-asphyxiating half-hug, Harry's neck resting on his biceps, and Harry laughed as he hugged him back, his strong, tan arm tightening around Louis’s waist as he did so. Louis sighed with contentment as Harry’s heart beat steadily against his. He felt completely relaxed, just then, and that was perfectly all right with him. This, right here, was the most peaceful, blissful moment he had experienced in a long while, and it was all because of his new best mate. Louis sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the edge to pull on some sweatpants over his boxers and change his tee-shirt as the familiar, cheerful chirp of Niall’s voice echoed through the bungalow. “That’s our early bird,” Louis chuckled happily. 

“Woah, since when are you such a morning person?” Harry asked, his eyebrows rising as he propped himself up on his elbows. 

“I’m not, it just feels like a good day today,” Louis shrugged happily, and Harry smirked slightly as he scooted out of bed and rummaged through his suitcase for something to wear. 

“Hey, Lou, lend me some sweat pants?” he asked, and Louis grudgingly tossed his favourite pair of red sweats over his shoulder, hearing a vague “Ow,” followed by the sound of rustling fabric as Harry pulled them on over his own boxers. “Let’s go make Nialler some breakfast,” Louis sighed. Harry groaned. 

“That’s every day this week. You’d think a boy who loves food so much could make some for himself.” Louis chuckled and stepped into his green corduroy Toms while Harry tugged a Jack Wills hoodie over his rumpled curls, and they started for the kitchen. Harry swore under his breath as his foot caught sharply on one of the dozens of air mattresses scattered about the floor. The other week, Louis had caught a cold, and Harry, Niall, Liam, and Zayn had driven down to the local KFC for some mash to warm him up, and when they had returned an hour later, Louis had inflated every single air mattress Harry’s step-dad owned. They had stepped through the door to see practically every inch of floor hidden beneath mattress, and Louis sitting smack in the middle of it all, a blanket tugged around his shoulders as he looked around, smiling and looking unbelievably pleased with himself. 

“No wonder that boy can sing. He’s got the lungs of a damn seal,” Harry had mumbled, dazed as he glanced around the bungalow. Now, what with the boys’ erratic behaviour and the mattresses lying around, it resembled more of an asylum than anything else. Whenever one of the lads had been tired, they simply let their knees buckle beneath them on the spot, and they would collapse onto the nearest air mattress before going out like a light. 

“Those little knobs can be sharp,” Harry pouted, frowning as he rubbed his foot. Louis grinned. 

“Wimp,” he teased, stepping over a mattress, only to trip on top of another, one that happened to already be occupied. 

“Ah!” a loud, smooth cry echoed through the quiet of the morning, and Louis screeched with surprise as he collapsed with a thud on the floor beside a very shell-shocked Zayn, blankets tangled around his limbs. “Ouch!” Zayn shrieked, looking incredibly surprised, before annoyance crossed his face. 

“Erm… Good morning, sunshine!” Louis chirped, beaming innocently down at the furious, rumple-haired Zayn. 

“The earth says hello!” Harry chimed, grinning, and Louis turned to him with a laugh, green eyes twinkling. 

“Thank you, Harry!” he said appreciatively, nodding in his direction and crawling quickly to his feet before Zayn could harm his manhood. “Let’s go, go, go! The sun is shining and the birds are crapping all over the roof, so get up!” Louis cheered, his voice rising as he grabbed Zayn’s arm, yanking him up off of the mattress. 

“Knock it off,” he growled. 

“Go on, Zayn, go wash your face and change into your play clothes, little one!” Louis teased him, shooing him off towards the bathroom. 

“I hate mornings, I hate mornings, I hate mornings…” Zayn grumbled to himself as he went, cursing every now and then as he tripped over the mattresses. Harry grinned. 

“Looks like you and Zayn have something in common,” he laughed. 

“Oh, Zayn!” A familiar Irish voice sang through the house, and Niall appeared around the corner, his blonde hair mussed about his head and sticking up in all directions, wearing nothing but a pair of fleece pyjama pants. “I’m ready for my breakfast—Harry? Louis?” he asked, stopping in the doorway and gazing curiously at the trio. His face lit up like a light bulb. “Aw, guys! You volunteered to make me breakfast!” 

“Erm, actually—” Harry began, raising a finger. 

“Aw, gee, that sure was sweet of you. And it was so lovely to offer to make breakfast for everyone else as well. Thanks, boys,” Zayn interrupted him as he stepped out of the bathroom, grinning sinisterly, and Louis shot him the mother of all nasty looks. 

“But…” Louis began to whine, but Harry simply sighed and grabbed his arm, yanking him off of the floor and into the kitchen. 

“Ow! Shoulder, shoulder, shoulder,” he winced as Harry dragged him. 

“Awh, I’m sorry, Boobear,” Harry tittered, rolling his eyes. “Here. Better?” he asked with a smirk as he rubbed Louis’s shoulder with the strong, soft palm of his hand, his thumb digging into the area beneath his tendon. 

“Sure is,” Louis winked, smiling. “Although that’s not where it hurts.” Harry laughed, shaking his head in disbelief and lifting a frying pan from the rack of pots hanging over the sink. 

“Eggs and bacon sound good?” he asked lightly, looking aimlessly around the room. 

“Harry,” Louis said, exasperated. “Not only are we expected to feed five full grown lads, we’re expected to feed Niall. What we need is eggs, bacon, hash, kipper, sausage, pancakes… We need a bloody buffet.” Harry laughed before running his hand wearily through those floppy curls and sighing. 

“There’s no way I can cook all of that. Hell, I dunno how to cook half of it.” 

“Ah, but that’s why we have the magic of takeout,” Louis grinned mischievously, striding to Harry’s side and whipping his mobile out of they fleece pocket of his sweats. 

“Hey!” Harry said indignantly, although he was smiling. 

“Hushedy-hush, young Harold,” Louis said sternly, gazing at the screen of Harry’ phone as he dialed the number of the nearest MacDonald’s. Ten minutes later, he and Harry had locked the door of the kitchen and snuck out the back of the bungalow, holding imaginary guns in their hands and narrowing their eyes as they displayed their very best James Bond impressions. 

“The name’s Styles,” Harry hissed menacingly, taking a wild, spastic jump as he leaped in front of Louis’s car. “Harry Styles.” 

“And I’m Louis,” Louis seethed, feeling very pleased with himself as he used his classic American Show host accent, his voice deepening dramatically. “I would introduce myself the same way, but some of us just don’t have names as sexy as Harry’s.” Harry grinned, and Louis winked. 

“That’s right. Be jealous,” Harry snickered, opening the passenger door and climbing into the cab of the car. Louis crashed happily into the driver’s seat, grinning as he closed the car door quietly lest the others realize what they were up to, and he put the car in ignition before pulling out of the main drive and beginning the two-mile trip to the nearest MacDonald’s. 

“Turn on some music, would you?” he asked as the silence of the car pressed on his ears. 

“Gladly,” Harry said, fiddling with the dial of the radio. “Yay!” he said giddily, his face lighting up as the familiar notes of a song drifted through the cab. Louis beamed broadly and opened his mouth to join in. 

“I’m gonna pick up the pieces and build a Lego house. If things go wrong, we can knock it down. My three words have two meanings, there’s one thing on my mind; it’s all for you.” His high, sweet voice clashed with the smooth tone of Ed Sheeran’s, and Harry, smiling widely, began to sing. 

“And it’s cold in a dark December, but I’ve got you to keep me warm. If you’re broken, I will mend you, and I’ll keep you sheltered from the storm that’s raging on now...” Louis smiled as his friend’s rich, husky voice filled the air. God, what he wouldn’t give for a voice like Harry’s… Turning to look at each other, an enormous grin stretched across either face, they opened their mouths to sing the chorus together. 

“I’m out of touch, I’m out of love, I’ll pick you up when you get down, and out of all the things I’ve done, I think I love you better now. I’m out of sight, I’m out of mind, I’ll do it all for you in time, and out of all the things I’ve done, I think I love you better now.” Louis could not hold back the silly smile on his face. He absolutely adored singing as it was, but singing with Harry? That was truly something else. Yeah, he enjoyed himself immensely while he was singing with the other lads, but there was something about the coziness and privacy of singing with the curly-haired boy, hearing their voices clash together, that made Louis appreciate just how nice it was to have a friend there for you, to have someone’s complete and undivided attention. 

Growing up with four little girls, he had never been in the spotlight. When he brought home a rare good mark from school, it was usually shadowed by whichever top mark Lottie had received that week. If he did something nice for his mum, she never had the time or energy to appreciate it, usually due to the ruckus of raising five kids and coping with her marital problems. Louis had always been disapproving of the way his mother handled relationships. He had thought he had seen the end of household arguments when his parents had divorced and his father had disappeared from their lives for what seemed would be the rest of time. Unfortunately, his mother hadn’t appeared to be a quick learner. She had remarried fairly swiftly after her divorce, and Louis had never quite been a fan of her new choice of partner. Needless to say, they had separated a few months ago, and even though Louis was not particularly close with his stepfather, he couldn’t help but feel as if he were reliving his parents’ divorce, and it had crushed him, not just because he was hurting, but because his mother and sisters were as well. Often times, a few months before the show, Louis could be found curled up with Daisy and Fizzy late at night, the girls sniffling into his shirt and silent tears staining his pillow as he held them. He had always had to be the strong one in the family, even for his mother. He didn’t mind looking after his sisters the way he did. He was pleased as punch to have them, and he knew that one day he wanted plenty of kids of his own, but he couldn’t help but occasionally wish he himself could be a child again, not ashamed to cry or to listen a comforting murmur as someone whispered in his ear that everything would be all right. But he had never, not once, experienced such a comfort, and he knew he most likely never would. He had come to accept that he would always have to be the bigger man, always be the one to comfort others when they were in need, rather than the other way around. 

“Louis, will you build me a Lego house?” Harry’s boyish, husky mumble startled him from his thoughts, and he turned round to see Harry grinning as Ed Sheeran’s song echoed in the air. 

“Course I will, Harry!” Louis grinned, forcing his own smile and rumpling Harry’s soft curls, being sure to keep one hand on the wheel as he pulled into the MacDonald’s carpark. 

“Yay,” Harry sighed happily as he unbuckled himself and swung the door of the car open. 

“Alrighty, let’s get some breakfast,” Louis said eagerly, rubbing his hands together as they stepped into the MacDonald’s. Seeing at it was only around six in the morning, there were only one or two other people in the vicinity, looking half-asleep. Louis wondered what they would look like in a couple of months, if the band made it far on the show. Would people begin recognizing them in public, pointing and whispering excitedly to each other behind their hands? Would they ask for their autographs? He waved the thought away, feeling ridiculous. Of course they wouldn’t. The boys, from what he could tell, were good, but they would never reach that kind of fame. 

“What can I get for you?” the woman behind the counter asked tiredly as she hid a yawn behind her hand, blinking sleepily up at the lads. “What do you reckon?” Harry asked, looking over at Louis, his green eyes round, and Louis smiled faintly. 

“Erm, let’s get a tray of eggs, some sausage, some kipper, a bit of hash, and a coffee,” Louis told the woman, and she nodded. 

“Good, that’ll keep Niall happy,” Harry smiled before ordering two trays of pancakes and eggs for the other four of them. Twenty minutes later, after Niall’s food had finished cooking, Harry and Louis strolled out of the café, Harry carrying a large iced tee and Louis loaded with the lads’ meal. 

“Oi, give me a sip of that,” he said, and Harry stuck out the cup.  

“Oops,” he giggled at the straw jabbed Louis in the eye, and he winced. 

“A bit lower, if you please,” Louis said sarcastically, and harry grinned as he poked the straw into Louis’s mouth and he took a sip. “Thank you,” Louis said, and Harry sniggered. “Wanna help me with these at all?” Lou grunted from beneath the pile of food towering in his arms. 

“Of course, Louis why didn’t you just ask?” Harry asked gently, and Louis sighed with relief as Harry reached for the pile. He simply lifted a single, tiny pad of butter from atop the Styrofoam egg tray. Louis’s eyes narrowed as Harry smiled, clearly pleased with himself. Cheeky bloke, he thought, chuckling darkly as Harry opened the boot of the car for him and he set the monstrous heap of takeout on the carpeted surface. 

“Finally,” he sighed, rubbing his arms and walking round to his seat. 

“D’aw, poor Boobear,” Harry teased, putting a hand on Louis’s shoulder and squeezing it gently. Louis smiled at his touch, relaxing as he leaned back in the seat and started back to the bungalow. “Think they’ll know we didn’t cook it?” Harry asked guiltily as the two of them hauled the food quietly into the kitchen and began dishing it into dishes. 

“Course not. I mean…How would they be able to tell?” Louis shrugged. 

“I dunno, I’ve always thought Niall has a sixth sense when it comes to food.” Harry grinned, and Louis laughed, rolling his eyes as they crammed the empty takeout boxes into the waste bin. “There. That should just about do it,” he said, pleased as he brushed his hands together. 

“Harry, Louis, is breakfast ready? What are you two doing in there?” Zayn’s voice sounded from outside the locked door, and Harry and Louis looked at each other, mischief in their gazes. 

“Oh, Louis I love you so much! Don’t tell!” Harry shouted as he jokingly batted his eyelashes, making sure Zayn could hear. 

“Never, my love!” Louis replied loudly, snickering heartily into his hand as Harry wrapped his hands around his neck and jerked him forward for a fake snog, Louis laughing wildly all the while as Harry’s warm cheek heated his own, his soft, thick curls brushing his forehead. 

“It doesn’t look as real when you’re laughing,” Harry said sternly, pulling back just enough to glare into Louis’s face, his arms still tight around his neck. 

“Then we’ll just have to practice, won’t we?” Louis joked, shooting Harry an over-the-top wink, full of fluttering eyelashes and pursed lips, trying very hard to resist bursting into laughter. 

“Sounds good to me!” Harry laughed, bumping Lou’s hip with his own and opening the kitchen door. “Come get your homemade breakfast,” he said, enunciating every syllable as he spoke to Zayn, his face just a bit too innocent. Louis repressed an amused snort; Harry was a terrible liar. He knew a bad actor when he saw one, and sadly, Harry fit the bill. 

“Erm, thanks?” Zayn asked, cocking a suspicious eyebrow as he wiggled happily into the kitchen like a dog. Over the course of their visit, the lads had finally gotten to know Zayn and bring him out of his shell, although they knew they still had some progress to make. He was a shy bloke, Zayn was, and he, like Liam, was an introvert and enjoyed his own company, something Louis had learned the hard way when he had attempted to declare a tickle war while Zayn was reading peacefully in the sunroom. 

“We worked so hard on it, didn’t we Lou?” Harry asked loudly, winking at Louis, who slammed his forehead into his palms, sighing. 

“Harry, you know I love you, but just stop talking,” he muttered, and Harry blinked. 

“What did I do?” he asked cluelessly. 

“Ah, breakfast ready?” Liam breezed through the door with a sleepy smile. 

“Yep,” Louis sighed wearily before Harry could reply and give the game away. 

“Thanks, guys, it tastes great,” Liam said through a mouthful of hash. “Really nice of you to make this just for us.” He added. 

“Yeah, we appreciate it,” Zayn chipped him. A wide, sneaky smile had dawned on Harry’s lips, his dimples denting his cheeks as he grinned to himself, and Louis shot him an exasperated look and grabbed his arm, spinning him around to face the counter. 

“Why don’t you have something to eat, Harry?” he asked pointedly, giving him a stern glare from beneath his feathery hair, and Harry nodded, catching on. He lifted a forkful of pancakes to his mouth and began eating, 

“Niall, breakfast is ready!” Zayn shouted through the door of the kitchen. 

“Ooh! Leprechaun coming!” he replied happily, and Liam laughed, his eyes twinkling. The second Niall walked through the door, he paused. “Aw, you guys got MacDonald’s just for us?” he asked Harry and Lou, a smile breaking across his face. Immediately, Harry choked on his pancakes and began coughing horribly into the sink, and Louis’s eyes widened in surprise. Well, he thought, mildly impressed. I guess Niall does have a sixth sense. He quickly regained his composure and turned to pound his fist against Harry’s back, attempting to ease his coughing. 

“Lou, I—Ow, stop--Louis, you don’t need to--Ow—Lou! I’m okay!” he gasped as Louis whacked him. He smiled timidly. Oops. He turned to look nervously at Niall. “What do you mean? We made all this,” he said in what was possibly the most unconvincing tone Louis had ever heard. 

“Sure, lads. I can smell MacDonald’s a mile away,” he grinned. “And that is MacDonald’s.” 

“Nah, you must have it mixed up. We just used a lot of cooking oil. That’s probably what you’re smelling,” Louis shrugged easily. All other looked convinced but Niall, who narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Oh, really, Louis?” he challenged, walking over to the waste bin and jabbing a finger towards the contents. “And I suppose these MacDonald’s takeout trays were brought by Father Christmas?” Harry and Louis exchanged glum looks. 

“Um…Oopsies?” Harry asked in a small voice, and Louis grinned despite himself, glancing at Harry, and Harry winked. 

“Whatever. Still tastes good. But I officially withdraw my thank you,” Zayn said, nose in the air as he grabbed his plate and filed into the sunroom. 

“Me too,” Liam said, pouting slightly as he slid two pancakes onto a fork and ran after Zayn, holding his meal aloft as if it were a sword. 

“I love you!” Niall exclaimed happily, grinning at Harry and Louis as he grabbed three full trays of food and skipped cheerfully after Liam. 

“Well, that’s that plan bottled,” Louis said after a long pause, and Harry began laughing, clapping his hands in appreciation as he slipped another forkful of eggs between his lips. 

“I would have been very impressed if we had made this ourselves,” he said somberly once he had swallowed. 

“It’s just MacDonald’s,” Louis rolled his eyes. 

“I know, but compared to that chicken I made the other week…” he grimaced at the memory, and Louis snickered. 

“Zayn was offended.” 

“That’s an understatement,” Harry growled. “Come on, the kipper won’t eat itself.” Louis shoveled a few servings of eggs and hash onto his plate and followed Harry into the sunroom to join the other lads. 

“….Just not a good idea,” Liam was saying as they entered the room. 

“What’s not a good idea?” Louis asked, plopping down on the sofa as Harry scrambled up beside him, laying down across the cushions and setting his feet comfortably in Louis’s lap. Niall’s eyes lingered on their position, a smug smile lighting his lips. Louis wondered what was going through his head. You can never tell with a leprechaun, he sighed mentally. 

“The campfire,” Zayn explained. “I think it’s a go.” 

“I think it’s a no,” Liam countered, and Harry smiled. “It’s rained every night for the past three days. Where are we going to find any good wood?” Louis saw the joke in Liam’s sentence around the same time that Harry and Niall did. 

Niall giggled immaturely, and Harry muttered, “I know where you could get some good wood.” Louis crammed his knuckles in his mouth as he tried to stop himself from exploding with laughter, and Harry grinned, pleased that he had amused him. 

“All right, aside from Harold’s good wood, how are we going to start a fire?” Liam asked, chuckling to himself, and Louis smirked. 

“It can’t all be damp. There’s that patch of woods a couple hundred meters east, there’s got to be some dry wood there.” Zayn suggested. 

“I don’t like the look of it too much,” Liam sighed. “I’d rather we get some charcoal from the shop or something.” 

“Fine,” Louis said, “I’ll drive to the service station and pick up some briquette, and one of you will have to figure out how to use it, because the only time I’ve ever handled that stuff was when I got it in my stocking as Christmastime.” 

“Coal in your stalking?” Harry chuckled. “And why was that?” 

“I was a naughty boy,” Louis grinned wickedly, and Liam rolled his eyes. 

“What if it rains again tonight?” Niall piped. 

“No problem, the patio is under the Bowery anyways,” Harry shrugged. 

“But it will be cold,” Niall whined. 

“Wear a jacket,” Zayn smirked. 

“Buddy up! Body warmth succeeds!” Liam cried, flinging his arms in the air. 

“I call Harry as my body warmth buddy!” Louis declared, and Harry grinned, sitting up and wrapping his arms playfully around Louis’s shoulders. 

“Sorry, lads, you’ll have to settle for second best.” 

“Pssh! Second best my arse,” Zayn said indignantly. “The only cuddler I need right now is my hair brush.” 

“Liam?” Niall looked hopefully towards Liam, those blue eyes rounder and wider than ever, shining with hope. Now, who could turn down a face like that? 

“Course, Nialler,” Liam grinned, mussing Niall’s hair. “All right, first thing’s first,” he continued. “Harry’s mum and stepdad have been very nice to let us use their bungalow, so the least we can do is make sure it’s tidied up before we leave. You know what that means…” 

“No,” Louis whispered, a pained look crossing his face. “Liam, don’t say it…” 

“The air mattresses have to go.” 

“No! Liam, I told you not to say it!” Louis bellowed, clearly distressed as collapsed in a heap over Harry’s feet. 

“It’s okay, we’ll make a game of it,” Harry grinned. “Whoever can deflate the most mattresses in an hour wins.” Louis perked slightly. As members of the male gender, he and the others were unbelievably competitive, especially when it came to things like these… 

“Okay. Ready-set-go!” Louis said in a rush, grinning and whipping out of the sunroom, Harry toppling out of the couch as he flung him off of his lap, and leaving the others with dazed expression on their faces. 

“Hey!” Zayn shouted vaguely as Louis grinned goofily, dashing through the bungalow and twisting the knob on one of the mattresses before performing a massive belly flop onto the velvet. The air slowly whooshed out with a steady hiss. So much for a dramatic deflation, Louis thought with a pout, climbing to hit feet before flopping atop the mattress once more. When it had finally shrunk to a pathetic, wrinkled heap, he grinned, tallying the mattress in his head, and leaped for the nearest mattress to repeat the process. 

As he flew about the bungalow leaving a trail of crumpled fabric in his wake, he observed the others. Harry was whizzing from mattress to mattress, yanking the knobs out and running across their surfaces, laughing like a madman all the while, his green eyes alight with happiness. Niall was grinning to himself, his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on performing odd Irish jigs atop the mattresses. Well, needless to say, it was working. Liam was jumping up and down on the mattresses, his hair flying above him, clearly having the time of his life. Zayn was kneeling onto each mattress, slamming his fists into the fabric, punching the air out of them. Louis continued his belly flop routine until he gazed around to see that not a single inflated mattress remained. The five of them stood in the midst of a crumpled mess, looking around, impressed. “Think that’s all of them,” Liam smiled, brushing his hands together. 

“How many did you get?” Louis asked eagerly. 

“I lost count,” Niall grinned sheepishly. Zayn nodded. 

“Nine,” Harry said smugly. 

“Eleven!” Louis replied triumphantly, pumping his fist in the air. 

“Fine, you win,” Harry muttered glumly. “This time,” he added, and Louis smiled smugly. 

“Good job,” Zayn smiled, pleased with the lot of them. “Let’s get these off the floor.” Folding up the mattresses was a hell of a lot less enjoyable than deflating them, as Louis and Zayn were quick to notice. 

“I don’t get it. Why do you fold things if you’re going to unfold them again eventually? Why not save yourself the hassle?” Louis asked incredulously, watching Niall neatly fold a mattress as if he were a magician. 

“So things fit more easily and so they’re more organized,” Harry said seriously, and as he carefully aligned the corners of one mattress together and compressed it into a tight bundle, Louis blinked, realizing he was living with neat freaks. He slowly scooted over to Zayn. He needed someone who understood the foreignity of the situation. Zayn’s lips were parted as he gazed dumb-foundedly around at the lot of them. The scary thing was, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Enjoying themselves! 

“How can you like it so much?” Louis asked, mingled awe and disgust in his voice. 

“It calms me down,” Harry shrugged. “You know, sometimes it’s one of the only things that make sense in my life.” Aw, well, that was deep, Louis thought, eying his best friend intently. He had thought that, in the thirteen days he had lived with Harry, literally spending twenty-three hours a day at his side, he knew everything there was to know about the curly-haired lad, but something new cropped up every day, and it….Intrigued Louis. He wondered what on earth Harry could have been through to make folding clothes feel like an escape. Louis yawned slightly as he sloppily tossed a mattress in half. 

“It’s too early,” he groaned. 

“You’ve been up for almost three hours,” Niall reminded him with a titter. 

“Last time I get up at half past five,” he muttered. “Harry, this is all your fault for hitting me.” He smiled to himself, waiting for Harry to reply with a clever retort, but as he looked round, the only expression on Harry’s face was one of confusion. 

“Half past five…” he murmured distractedly to himself. 

“Yes, Harold. Tick-tock, tick-tock,” Zayn teased him, and Liam laughed. Just as Harry glanced down at his watch, it began beeping wildly. Comprehension dawned on his face. 

“Your alarm again?” Niall asked curiously. 

“What? Erm, yeah,” Harry mumbled, glancing up at him. “Keep forgetting to turn that off,” he added with a chuckle, and Niall grinned. “I’ll just, uh, go put my watch away then,” he shrugged nonchalantly, setting his nicely swathed mattress on the coffee table and climbing to his feet. 

“Hurry back, we’ve got loads more to fold!” Liam called after him. 

“Where?” Louis exclaimed, looking around. There was only one more crumpled mattress sitting on the floor. 

“All of these,” Liam replied with a pointed look, gesturing to themessy pile folded by Louis and Zayn. 

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad,” Zayn said, and Liam rolled his eyes, smiling. 

“Oh, yes they are. Niall, let’s show these boys how it’s done, shall we?” 

“No comment,” Zayn mumbled in Louis’s ear with a smirk, and Louis grinned mischievously. 

“What are you two smirking about?” a husky, rich voice drifted to Lou’s ears, and he glanced up to see Harry walking back into the sunroom, hands shoved in his pockets. Liam glanced up curiously. 

“Nothing!” Zayn and Louis chorused together, and Harry bit his lip, his eyebrows rising, and he lowered himself slowly onto the floor before the coffee table once more. 

“Hey, your watch,” Zayn said suddenly. 

“What about it?” Harry shrugged. 

“It’s still on your wrist,” Zayn pointed out. “I thought you were going to take it off.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, diverting his eyes. “Guess I forgot.” Louis blinked, his eyes narrowing. He wasn’t sure who Harry was kidding; he knew the lot of them weren’t idiots, but clearly, it wasn’t something Harry cared to talk about at the moment. Oh well, Louis thought. I’ll weasel it out of him later. After all, the two of them had spent most nights telling each other secrets and stories. Harry hiding something from Louis was new; but Louis would be sure it wasn’t going to become a pattern. Friends like Harry and Louis didn’t keep things from each other. Sure, they had only known each other for a little over two weeks, but they were…Well, close. Louis couldn’t find any other way to explain their friendship. He shook his thoughts away, as if clearing his head, and shoved his terribly-folded stack of mattresses across the table to Liam, Niall and Harry, who quickly went to work, Harry’s face morphing from jittery and diverted to calm and relaxed. Well, Louis knew one thing. If the lads made it to the finals, Harry would be doing his laundry.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

That had been a close call. Harry knew if he wanted to keep the story behind that alarm private, he would need to be a bit more discrete with his actions. He had cooled down slightly as three of the lads relaxed, looking happy with his alibi of forgetting to remove his wrist watch, but at the suspicious look in Lou’s hazel eyes, he knew he would be questioned later on. It seemed he would have to find a safer hiding spot for the bottle of pink pills sitting in his duffel bag… 

“Oi, lads, I’ve got the charcoal!” A familiar, sweet voice bellowed, drifting through the open windows of the bungalow a few hours later. 

“Lou’s back!” Niall chirped, and Harry grinned, rising to his feet to help Louis with the briquette. It appeared, however, that Louis didn’t need help. “You only got one bag?” Niall asked, confused as he glanced at the solitary sack of rocks hanging from Louis’s hand. 

“It’s only one fire, I didn’t think we’d need another,” Louis shrugged. Niall bit his lip, obviously questioning the reliability of a single bag, but Harry’s eyes had locked on something else in Lou’s hands. 

“Ooh, you got me a present!” he said, striding gleefully towards Louis and reaching for the cold bottle of beer gripped in his fingers. 

“Of course I didn’t! Harry!” Lou scolded him playfully. “You’re too young to drink, silly. No alcohol for you.” 

“Fine,” Harry scowled. 

“Is Liam finished cooking?” Louis asked, looking past Harry’s shoulder and into the bungalow. 

“Yes!” Liam shouted from the kitchen, and Louis and Harry grinned at each other. “Come and have a bowl of Liam’s famous Al Denti!” he said, putting on an exaggerated Italian accent. 

“Super Noodles again?” Louis groaned, but he cut himself off as a loud scuffle sounded from beside the pair of them, and he blinked, realizing Niall had whizzed straight for the kitchen at his words. “That boy, I swear,” Louis smiled, setting the bag of charcoal against the side of the bungalow and following Harry into the kitchen, where five Styrofoam cups of sticky, colorless pasta sat waiting for them on the counter, clouds of steam bobbing in the air above them. 

“I don’t care how bad these are for your kidneys,” Harry sighed through a mouthful of the thin, salty noodles. “They taste like heaven.” 

“Not when you’ve tasted heaven twenty-six times,” Louis pointed out, and Harry had to admit, he made a valid point. The lot had been quite literally surviving off of Super Noodles for the duration of their visit, except for the rare occasion when one of them was brave enough to attempt an actual meal. And let’s face it, Harry thought as he crammed another mouthful of noodle between his lips, That wasn’t often. 

“Liam, how the hell do you start a fire with charcoal?” Louis asked between bites of his supper. 

“I’ll do it,” Liam sighed. 

“But I want to help!” Louis said eagerly, an excited smile dawning on his lips. 

“Awh, look at that face, Li,” Harry cooed, smiling as he positioned his head beside Lou’s, temples knocking together, and pinched Louis’s cheeks between his fingers. “You can’t say no to that, can you?” 

“Sorry, Louis,” Liam grinned, tossing his empty Styrofoam cup into the waste bin. “Looks like that only works on Harry. I’m off.” 

“Is it true?” Harry asked, his voice full of mock somberness as he gazed seriously up at Louis. “It only works on me?” 

“Afraid so, Harold,” Louis snickered, and Harry let a long, fake sigh fall from his lips as he pinched the corners of his eyes between his fingers, pretending to be on the verge of distraught tears. “Aw, poor Harry! Do we need to put you on medication?” Louis teased him, waiting for Harry to laugh, but his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the glee died from Harry’s face. Oh, shit, he thought. Did he know? No, he argued. He couldn’t know. He was merely messing around. “Hello? Harry?” Louis asked, looking baffled as he waved a hand over his face. “What’s up?” 

“What? Nothing,” Harry said, a forcing a tight smile to his lips. 

“Sure?” Louis asked, squinting suspiciously. 

“Course,” Harry replied, with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. Louis pursed his lips tightly, but seemed to sense that Harry wanted to keep whatever was bothering him to himself, and for that, Harry was incredibly grateful. “Come on, then,” he said, grabbing Louis’s arm. “Let’s go get some marshmallows.” Louis’s face lit up like the sun at his words, and Harry smiled to himself as he skipped happily after Harry. Fifteen minutes later, the five of them were huddled around the fire, scooting as close as they dare in an attempt to shield themselves from the biting breeze rushing through the inky blackness of the evening. 

“Grahams?” 

“Check.” 

“Chocolate bars?” 

“Check.” 

“Hot chocolate?” 

“Check.” 

“Kitchen prongs?” 

“Check again.” 

“Marshmallows?” 

“Mmph!” Liam turned to see Louis waving in his direction, the bag of marshmallows swaddled in his arms and cradled tightly against his chest. His mouth was positively bursting with white, puffy marshmallows, and clearly, he could not have been more tickled about it. 

Zayn snorted with hysterical giggles while Niall sighed longingly, gazing at the bag of marshmallows. Liam rolled his eyes, and Harry grinned, rushing forward to yank six or seven of the enormous marshmallows from Louis’s bag and stuff them heartily into his own mouth, powdered sugar dusting his lips and chin. If Louis had been able to move his mouth a single millimeter, he would have been beaming with laughter, but all the lads heard was the muffled sound of indistinct chuckles resounding from the back of his throat. 

Harry, amused by the sound, began to snicker through his mouthful of mallow, and the noise of his own laughter made itself heard. At the sound of Harry’s laughter, Louis began chuckling more wildly than ever, quick, deep breaths whispering through his nose as struggled for air. Soon, the two of them were clutching their sides, positively shaking with giggles as they snickered to themselves, exchanging bright glances, their eyes full of smiles. 

“Ne-Ha!” Louis mumbled through his bulging mouth. 

“Did he say Liam or Niall?” Zayn asked, grinning as he turned to look at the other two. 

“Ne-Ha!” Louis repeated, jabbing his finger in Liam’s direction. “Neh ah Mm-Uh!” 

“Oh, yeah, because I can totally understand you,” Liam chuckled, smiling fondly at his two friends, Louis making indistinct noises, the suppressed grin clear on his face, and Harry, who was now stumbling across the patio; he was laughing so vigorously, small puffs of powdered sugar blooming into the air as he chortled. 

“Mm-Uh!” Louis said again, holding his hands up and making a strange movement with his fingers. 

“He wants you to take a picture,” Niall shot, questioning Louis, who nodded eagerly. 

“Okay,” Liam grinned, pulling out his phone and snapping playfully at Harry, instructing him to hold still. “Say ‘Berks!’” Liam teased, and Niall, standing behind him, grinned happily and shouted, “Berks!” 

“Not you, silly,” Zayn grinned, swatting Niall’s arm. 

“Now hurry and swallow, because I am not resuscitating you if you choke,” Liam said, waggling a finger in the two lads’ direction, and they looked at each other before simultaneously taking enormous gulps, wincing slightly before grinning again, slinging their arms around each other’s shoulders. Harry was happier than he had been in a very, very long time, and he was perfectly aware of the reason why; it was all because of the four amazing boys standing beside him. 

“Let’s get this party started!” Louis shouted, a mischievous glint in his eye as he grabbed his tongue in between his teeth, focusing as he expertly popped the cap off of his beer. 

“Yeah, buddy!” Niall grinned, grabbing his thermostat of hot chocolate and chugging half the canister in less than four seconds. Liam and Zayn began sliding marshmallows onto kitchen prongs. Harry cheered with the others, uncapping the lid of his own furnace and tipping the hot, thick chocolate into his mouth, grinning widely as the comfortable, cozy feeling filled his head. This wouldn’t be much a party if they were all sleepy and full of chocolate, but Harry didn’t mind. Any moment spent with the band was a moment to cherish. 

“Oi, give me a sip, would you?” Harry asked Louis, nodding towards his beer. 

“All right, but just a sip,” Louis said reluctantly, passing Harry his bottle, and Harry took a long, deep swig, sparks zapping his tongue and bubbling in the pit of his stomach as he swallowed the bubbly substance, its bitter taste strong in his mouth. He found it somehow exhilarating, even if it did taste like rubbish. Aside from the occasional glass of wine with his mum and step-father at dinner, Harry hadn’t drank too often. Each sip he took felt like a new experience, and he absolutely loved it. “How was it?” Louis asked coolly, popping his lips as he took the bottle from Harry and took a sip himself. 

“Great,” Harry smiled, closing his eyes as the buzz in his mouth died. 

“Wait until you’re of age. You, me, and maybe this lot all at Kasim’s.” Louis said, his eyebrows rising as he kicked back in his patio lounger, resting his feet on the arm of Liam’s chair. His heartbeat, although it did not quicken, made itself audible in harry’s ears. So, Louis and the boys were planning to stick around for at least the next year and a half? Well, that was certainly…touching. In order to put off just how emotional this made him, he asked, “Kasim’s?” His eyebrows furrowed confusion, his eyes locked unfocused on Louis’s fingers as they sub-consciously drummed a smooth rhythm on the glass of his bottle, sending barely-audible chimes ringing quietly through the air. The sound soothed Harry. 

“Yeah, it’s my favourite club,” Louis smiled. “The bartender? Super hot.” 

“Really?” harry asked, both interested in this ‘bartender’ and slightly annoyed at the fact that she had also caught Louis’s attention. 

“Yeah,” Louis grinned easily, looking completely at ease. “At any rate, it’ll be one hell of a party.” 

“Not like this one,” Harry smiled grudgingly. Louis shrugged, smiling slightly around at the group. 

“Sometimes a lad needs a break. This is one of those times,” he shrugs, and Harry nodded, knowing exactly what Lou meant. He couldn’t count how many times he had felt so incredibly trapped in Holmes Chapel, and no matter how many people he talked to or how many times he released his anger, he never, not once, lost the feeling that he was being chased, and his chaser was closing in on him. Here, he felt as if he and the boys were the only five people on earth. Well, us and the MacDonald’s cashier, Harry thought with a wry smile. 

“This…This right here is nice,” Louis sighed happily, letting his eyes slide shut. Harry watched him in awe. Would he ever be able to pull of such an air of ease? Hell, he doubted he had ever once felt as relaxed as Louis seemed to be right now. The stress and disappointment of Holmes Chapel had never allowed that. Maybe, if he stuck around with Louis and the boys, some of that peaceful contentment would rub off on him. He admired them, particularly Louis, for being able to live the way they did. He doubted they were keeping any darker secrets. It always, always seemed to be Harry, and he hated it. It began to dawn on him just how much of a miracle this band was. For once, he found himself incredibly thankful that he had not moved on as a solo artist. He knew now that he would have loathed it. But this? Sharing the times, both good and bad, with these four wonderful people? This, Harry thought, Just might be what I’ve been waiting for. Blinking thoughtfully, he tugged his legs tightly to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. 

“It’s a bit strange,” Zayn mumbled lazily, looking quite peaceful as he gazed sleepily into the crackling fire. “A month ago, I was sitting in my bedroom, trying to talk myself out of auditioning. I knew nothing would come of it…Or, I suppose I thought nothing would come of it. But look at this,” he smiled tiredly glancing around at us all. “Here we are, going to Judges’ Houses.” At this, a happy, closed-lipped smile broke across Harry’s face, one that was not often seen on his lips, and the lots of them let out small whistles of victory, clapping their hands once or twice. 

“I know. I didn’t think this would ever happen,” Harry admitted, his chin bobbing against his kneecaps as he spoke, and the eyes turned to him. “I thought I’d make it to boot camp, maybe, be told I didn’t make the cut, and go back to my life, knowing that I’d wasted my only chance to do what I love. And that’s pretty much what went down, except someone—Not sure who, but someone looked around and thought, ‘Hey, what if we put these lads together?’” The others gazed into the fire, their faces blank and serious as they listened. “It scares me, knowing how close I came to losing that chance, and how close we are to losing it now, but somehow, I think the chances are higher with you lot than they would have been if I were on my own. I think this group is what I’ve been needing.” Louis nodded, giving Harry an understanding glance and a smile. 

“I always thought I wanted to be a solo artist,” he chipped in, his sweet voice cutting through the crisp night air and interrupting the peaceful chirping of the crickets. “I was never in the spotlight before, what with my sisters and their talent,” he chuckled wryly. “And I thought that a spotlight, just on me and only me, was what I wanted. I know, it sounds horrible, but now, thinking about this band and where it could go, I’m realizing that maybe, rather than someone’s attention, I just wanted a shoulder to lean on. And now, look,” he smiled widely around at them all. “I’ve got four of them.” Harry’s face broke into another soft smile, and he nodded towards Lou, who grinned happily back at him. 

“I guess we really are all in this together, then,” Liam chuckled. “We’re all going in the same direction now.” Niall nodded fervently and Zayn mumbled sleepily in assent, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled to stay awake. 

“Yep,” Harry said. “Just one direction.” Just one direction. They were all going in one direction. He smiled. The thought relaxed him, somehow, made him truly feel as if he were a part of something. Going in one direction. In one direction… “One Direction,” he murmured thoughtfully to himself. 

“What was that?” Liam asked quietly, glancing up at Harry. 

“How's that? One Direction?” 

“As what?” Niall asked, confusion lining his face. 

“I dunno, a band name,” Harry shrugged. “We’ll be needing one, won’t we? It’s got a nice ring to it, or so I think. And it kind of goes along with what Liam said. We’re all on this trip together, aren’t we?” 

“One Direction. I like it.” Louis smiled, and Harry’s dimples deepened, pleased by the fact that he had gained Lou’s approval. 

“Yeah. I mean, it sounds cool, and it stands for something important to us. That’s what band names are supposed to do, right?” Zayn asked anxiously, and Harry was relieved to see that he was not the only one who felt like he had no idea what he was doing. 

“Niall, give it ago with your Peter Dixon voice.” Liam smiled, and Niall glanced towards him eagerly. 

“Really?” 

“Go for it,” The lads nodded, and Niall sat up, clearing his throat and looking around with pride. 

“Live from England, One Direction!” he shouted in his best impression of the Voice-over Man, and the boys clapped and cheered, grinning as Niall, smiling widely, gave a small nod and settled comfortably back in his chair. 

“Sounds good to me!” Liam smiled happily, and the others nodded. 

“Well done, Harry,” Louis clapped him on the shoulder. Harry smiled that cheeky, closed-lipped simper of his, his cheeks turning pink with pride, and his eyes locked bashfully on his feet. Harry had never been much of a contributor to anything before. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried—he honestly had—but it seemed as if anything he ever tried to do was just as invisible as he was himself. Feeling true appreciation and being fully recognized for once was just…inexplicable. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled shyly, the smile still stretched across his dimpled cheeks. His eyes flitted up to Louis’s, and Lou grinned at him. He couldn’t help himself; he grinned back. 

“Blimey, it’s getting chilly,” Niall shivered, and Harry glanced down to realize that the fire had burned down to nothing more than a coupe of glowing coals. 

“I’ll grab us some blankets,” Zayn volunteered, standing up. “Someone ought to restart the fire.” The others nodded. 

“Lou, go get that bag of charcoal, would you?” Liam asked, yawning as he climbed to his feet. 

“You mean this one?” Luis asked guiltily, biting his lip as he lifted an empty yellow sack into the air, filled with nothing but the remaining dust of the briquette. “Uh-oh.” He added in a gulp as Liam’s face fell. 

“You used it all? What was wrong with the fire I started?” Liam asked sternly. 

“It wasn’t pretty enough!” Louis protested defensively. 

“Oh, well excuse me for ignoring the beauty of a damn campfire,” Liam rolled his eyes, sighing. 

“That’s okay,” Louis said sincerely. “I’ll forgive you.” Liam smacked his forehead into his palm, closing his eyes for a brief moment and taking a deep breath. Zayn reappeared with the blankets, tossing one to each lad, and they smiled gratefully as they tugged them around their shoulders, bundling themselves up tightly. 

“There’s got to be some dry wood out there,” Harry suggested, clutching the edges of his blanket in his fist and nodding in the direction of the patch of woods to the east. 

“What did I tell you earlier? No way in hell,” Liam said frantically, shaking his head. 

“Come on, Li, you can take a flashlight or whatever,” Niall said eagerly, tugging on the hem of his shirt. 

“Not a chance,” Liam muttered darkly, his honey-colored eyes widening. “You have no idea what’s out—” Right on cue, each and every boy froze, faces filling with alarm as a sound echoed from the east, somewhere off in the field. It was a loud, harsh, animalistic sound, one that sent shivers up Harry’s spine. His head snapped up, and his lips parted in apprehension as he exchanged panicked glances with the other lads—all the lads, of course, except for Louis, whose eyebrows had shot up in mingled surprise and amusement, and a grin had crossed his lips. 

“Well, someone’s in a right state, aren’t they?” he chuckled, and Harry coughed in disbelief. 

“What was that?” Niall whimpered. 

“I have no bloody idea,” Liam said slowly, “But whatever it is, I am not planning on crossing paths with it. Screw the fire.” Harry sighed in consent. At the sound of a second cry, this one sounding much, much closer, the four of them emitted sharp gasps, their backs pressing tightly against the patio chairs. Even Louis was beginning to look slightly anxious now. 

“I think it’s coming this way,” Niall squeaked. 

“I think so too,” Harry breathed. 

“Hold on,” Zayn muttered darkly, and he stood up, walking to the edge of the patio, and grabbed a giant, broken branch in his hands. 

“What’s that for?” Harry asked. 

“We’ll make a torch, and one of us can see what’s up,” he shrugged, disappearing into the house and returning a moment later with an old dish towel knotted around the end of the branch. 

“You’re kidding,” Niall grinned. “This is like Braveheart!” 

“So,” Zayn asked nervously, glancing around at the lot of them. “Who’s going to be the brave heart tonight?” A loud, mingled murmur of “Not me” echoed around the fire, but suddenly, another cry, even closer than the last, echoed through the field, and they all froze once more. 

“This is getting scary,” Harry breathed. 

“That’s it,” Liam growled, standing to his feet. “Fine. I’ll go.” 

“Yeah, Liam!” They cheered, clapping their hand together once or twice. Grinning, Liam grabbed his blanket and knotted it around his neck like a cape, and Harry and Louis chuckled hysterically. 

“Go get ‘em, Payne!” Niall cheered as Liam dipped the branch in what remained of the dying fire, and it ignited. The orange flames licked the fabric of the rag, slowly turning its edges to brown, frayed crisps. He waved modestly over his shoulder as he jogged towards the fence and climbed hastily over the damp wooden planks. 

“Think he’ll be all right?” Zayn asked as they watched Liam disappear into the blackness, just as another distant, rough cry sounded through the night. 

“He’ll be fine,” Niall said confidently. They relaxed in their chairs, smiling sleepily around at one another and finishing the last of their hot chocolate and, in Louis’s case, beer. A long, quiet moment of drowsiness passed before a fifth scream sounded through the air, and this one was distinctly Liam-like. “Liam?” Niall said breathlessly, sitting bolt-upright in his chair and staring intently at the field. 

“Liam!” Harry shouted, cupping his hands over his lips and shouting to the field. “Are you okay?” They squinted through the darkness to see a tiny, dull pinprick of light rushing towards them, growing brighter and bigger with every second. Harry realized it was the torch Zayn had created. “Liam!” He shouted again, and a few moments later, a quick pant filled the air, and Harry’s eyes widened with surprise as Liam’s face loomed into view, looking sheerly terrified. As if he had been jabbed with a shot of adrenaline, he came dashing towards the fence at full speed, and, in a fast, blurred movement, he had launched himself over the fence and stumbled onto the patio, kneeling on the cobble stone as he breathed heavily. 

“What happened?” Louis yelped in alarm. 

“It…” Liam breathed, looking incredibly shaken. “The…Was…It…How…A horse…” 

“A horse?” Niall blinked, looking around at the lot of them. “You came running back to us like a little girl because of a horse.” And suddenly, all four of them were filling the air with laughter, doubling over and clutching their sides with mirth. 

“It’s not funny!” Liam breathed, climbing shakily to his feet, his warm eyes flitting anxiously about him. 

“It’s actually quite hilarious, mate,” Louis said with a grin, laughing as he put a hand on Liam’s shoulder. 

“Easy for you to say,” Liam grumbled, although a small smile was dawning on his lips. Harry chuckled uncontrollably into his hands, his eyes streaming with laughter as he collapsed in his chair. Zayn chortled weakly, catching his breath as he steadied himself on the back of his own chair. Niall, on the other hand, had fallen to the ground as he giggled, rolling around on his back and shouting his laughter to the night, going quite red in the face as he struggled for air. 

“Niall, you’re beginning to scare me worse than that horse,” Zayn snickered, but Niall simply continued to laugh more wildly than ever. Zayn glanced at Harry, who shrugged, grinning. 

“I want to go inside,” Liam mumbled, tugging his make-shift cape around his shoulders and bundling it beneath his chin. 

“Liam, it’s okay, it’s just a horse,” Louis began, but the air was filled with another loud, harsh whinny, and as the hair rose on Harry’s arms, he could have sworn it was only twenty or so metres away from the bungalow. At that moment, he didn’t care if it was a horse or a dragon; no animal who made that noise was coming near him, no sir. 

“I think Liam’s right,” he said abruptly, snatching up his thermos and flying for the patio door. He was surprised but relieved when the others made no objection and hurried after him, being sure to lock the patio door behind them. They slumped onto the floor of the common room, breathless from both laughter and trepidation. 

“Well,” Zayn said slowly. “I suppose we should all get to bed, no?” 

“Erm, right,” Niall coughed anxiously. “To bed. On our own. In the dark.” They sat in silence for a long, tense moment, before Liam gave in with a sigh and said, “Why don’t we all sleep out here tonight?” They all immediately mumbled shyly in agreement and hurried off to their rooms to grab their bedding and pillows and change. 

“Liam’s face,” Louis snickered as he and Harry prepared for bed in their room. Harry laughed sleepily as he tugged his hoodie over his head and stepped out of his trousers. 

“Don’t blame him,” he muttered tiredly. “I thought that horse was going to attack us or something.” 

“I would have saved you, Harry!” Louis beamed, reaching across the bed to pinch harry’s cheek, and Harry smiled. 

“I know, Lou,” he chuckled, swatting Louis’s fingers away, his hand lingering on his for a quick moment, warming his chilly skin, and he calmed slightly at his touch. Harry was craving some form of comfort right now, just something or someone to let him know that they had his back, and he was grateful that the other boys were there. He smiled at Louis before disappearing into the bathroom to run a hand through his tangled curls and brush his teeth. 

“Guys?” a small call sounded from the common room. “Guys, hurry up, it’s getting quite eerie out here.” 

“Coming, Zayn!” Harry and Louis shouted in unison. “Shall we?” Louis asked formally, standing up straight and holding his arm out to Harry, his nose in the air. 

“We shall,” Harry said pompously, latching his arm around Louis’s and marching into the common room, his other arm full of pillows and blankets. 

“Thank god,” Zayn sighed as the two of them appeared in the doorway. His eyebrows shot up at their locked arms, and a smirk crossed his lips. 

“What?” Louis asked in confusion. 

“Nothing,” Zayn shrugged, averting his gaze. “I’ve blown up a couple of the air mattresses again.,” he nodded towards the floor, where two air mattresses sat. “Didn’t know if you’d want one to yourself or not,” he shrugged apologetically.

“No problem, Harry and I always share,” Louis said airily, tossing his pillow onto one of the mattresses and flopping on top of the velvet with a grin. 

“All the doors are locked, right?” Niall asked in a small voice as he shuffled into the room, as always in nothing but his favourite fleece pajama pants. 

“Course they are, Nialler, I made sure,” Liam smiled as he walked past him, patting his bare shoulder gently. Niall bit his lip, nodding and crawled onto the other mattress. “Do you think the horse will come to the bungalow?” he asked anxiously. 

“I’m sure it won’t, Nialler,” Zayn sighed, mussing his blonde hair. 

“And even if it does, it won’t be able to get inside,” Louis offered, shrugging, and Niall nodded again, huddling beneath the blankets draped over his mattress. 

“Lights going off in three…two…one…” Liam said, and darkness filled the common room. 

“Ouch!” Harry hissed as Liam trod on his foot. 

“Oops, sorry, Harry,” he whispered. Harry felt blindly around the air for his mattress, but instead of warm, fleecy blankets, his hands came in contact with what seemed to be a bundle of soft, silky, lush…What was that? His hands moved slowly down from whatever he had been touching, and his eyebrows furrowed in surprise as he felt hot, smooth skin beneath his palms. 

“Having fun assaulting my face, Harry?” Louis teased, and a flash of white teeth gleamed through the darkness as he grinned. 

“What? Your face?” Harry asked, frowning, and he patted the skin lightly, feeling the sharp, short bristles of stubble of Louis’s chin. “Oh. Sorry, Lou. By the way, you need a shave,” he added, and Louis chuckled quietly. 

“Tone it down, would you?” Niall sighed as he rustled the blankets of the mattress he and Liam were sharing. 

“Good night,” Louis yawned, crawling into bed beside Harry. As silence fell, another distant, muffled whinny sounded from the field, and Niall squeaked. 

“It’s…it’s okay…” Liam hushed him anxiously as Harry froze. It was a stupid horse; there was no reason to feel uneasy. Yet somehow… Apparently, he was not the only one feeling a bit nervous, because he heard the sound of Louis’s breath catching as the Doncaster lad scooted slightly nearer to him. Relieved, Harry shuffled into Louis’s side, curling his knees to his chest as shrunk beneath the blanket. Louis huddled around Harry, shaking slightly, and Harry relaxed as his nerves slowly ebbed away. 

“It’ll be fine,” Louis murmured, his sweet voice whispering against Harry’s curls, and Harry nodded, convinced, his forehead nudging Louis’s bare chest. Here he felt safe and protected, in the arms of his new best mate.

 

⤞✧⤝


	7. The City

⤞✧⤝

 

“Louis!”  

Louis blinked as a pink, blonde-haired, blue-eyed blur shot across his vision, and before he knew it, he was being knocked to the ground by a bundle of thin, flailing limbs.  

“Woah, calm down!  Lou’s got to catch his breath,” he laughed, shielding his face with his hands as his little sister scrambled off of him.  

“You’re back!” Daisy shrieked.  “Phoebe!  Fizzy!  Lottie!  Lou’s back!”  Louis grinned as he grabbed Daisy’s hands in his own and held her down while he climbed to his feet.  

“I missed you, Daisy-Maisy,” he smiled.  

“Up!” she pouted, stretching her knobby arms in the air, and Louis sighed, putting his arms around her waist and lifting her onto his hip.  

“Me too, Louis!” a second shriek, identical to Daisy’s, sounded in his ears, and he glanced up to see Phoebe tumbling towards him, her thin, blonde hair flying behind her. 

“Oh, no!” he moaned with a grin.  “Double trouble!”  Grunting, he wrapped his other arm around Phoebe and hoisted her onto his chest.  

“Did you miss me, Lou?” she giggled, pecking Louis’s lips lightly with her own.  

“Course I did,” he sighed wearily.  “Where have your sisters got to?”  

“Who cares?” Daisy pouted, her pink lower lip jutting out as her arms squeezed Louis’s neck. 

“Ouch!  Watch the merchandise, Dee,” he winced, and she giggled.  Suddenly, he felt an enormous impact on his back as something warm, dainty, and strong collided with him, sending him stumbling forward on the sidewalk, his eyes widening with alarm.  A third pair of arms had tautened around his neck.  

“Fizz,” he groaned, gasping for breath as he struggled to bear the weight of three young girls.  

“Hi, Louis!” his second sister chirped, and Louis couldn’t help but roll his eyes as she mussed his hair.  

“All right, everyone off.  Louis needs to get his things.”  

“I’ll help you!” Daisy said quickly, jumping out of Louis’s grasp and dashing for his car.  

“No,  _I’ll_  help!” Phoebe shouted, clambering down Louis’s leg and running after Daisy.  

“I’m still his favourite!” Fizzy shouted as she scrambled off of Lou’s back and hurrying to the car.  Louis smiled, pleased with himself. 

He grabbed one of his duffel bags and traipsed towards the house, followed by a trio of giggling girls, all weighed down with his luggage.  

“There’s my boy,” his mum’s voice chorused from the kitchen, and Louis turned to see her walking towards him, her arms stretched out.  

“Hi, mum,” he grinned, setting down his bag to hug her.  

“How was it?” she asked.  

“Brilliant,” Louis exclaimed happily.  “The lads and I get on really well, especially Harry.  He came up with our new band name, ‘One Direction.’  What do you think?” he asked.  

“Calm down, Louis, one thing at a time,” Jay chuckled.  “And I think it’s great.  Tell this Harry lad that I send him my compliments.”  

“You can tell him personally, if you like,” Louis said eagerly.  “I’m about to ring him up.”  

“Not until you get unpacked, you’re not,” his mother said sternly, and Louis sighed.  

“Come on, loves, let’s get this stuff up to my room,” Louis said, and his sisters bounded eagerly after him.  

“Ew, Louis, your room is messy,” Fizzy wrinkled her nose as they stepped in Lou’s room.  Louis shrugged; he had no defense for that one.  Louis was about as organizationally skilled as a two-year-old.  Clothes were scattered across every surface of the room, and crinkled Coke cans and paper towels lay as far as the eye could see.  Louis stepped around an embarrassingly massive collection of socks and tossed his duffel bag haphazardly onto his unmade bed.  

“I’m gonna leave before I die,” Daisy cried dramatically, dropping Louis’s back in the doorway and dashing down the hallway, followed by the other two.  Louis eyed the full bags sitting on his bed, weighing his mother’s predictable anger if he did not put his clothes away with the tedious job of actually unpacking.  He decided that the task outweighed the consequences, and he waved a hand carelessly at the luggage before dragging himself out of his room and down the hallway.  

“So,” he said, leaning in the doorway of his eldest sister’s room.  “I disappear for two bloody weeks, and my own sister doesn’t welcome me home.  What’s becoming of this family?”  Lottie glanced up at him from her place on her bed, lying on her stomach, her legs swinging in the air above her as she played with her phone.  

“Welcome,” she grinned, popping her gum in her mouth and twirling her hair around her finger.  Louis sighed.  

“You really are a classic teenager, you know that?”  As if to prove his point, she rolled her eyes, blew a bubble, and said, “Shut up, berk.”  

“Love you too, princess,” Louis smirked.  “Well?  Aren’t you going to ask me how things went?”  

“Fine,” she sighed, putting her phone down.  

“Oh my God,” Louis shouted, his eyes widening in mock-surprise.  “Ladies and gentlemen, the phone has left the hand, I repeat,  _the phone has left the—_ ” 

“Ugh, you’re a nightmare,” Lottie groaned.  

“Thank you,” Louis grinned goofily, making a dash and tumbling onto Lottie’s bed beside her.  

“Okay,” she sighed.  “This is where I put on the whole perfect sister poster-child façade, right?”  

“Right,” Louis smiled, straightening up and waiting politely.  

“Hey, Louis,” Lottie said, her face brightening with fake happiness as she grinned at Lou.  “Gee, I’m so proud of you for being in a band and all, and I’m so glad you’re back from your first bonding trip!  I missed you so much!”  Her face fell and she glared at Louis.  “Please, don’t make me go any further.  I’m getting nauseated.”  

“Good enough for me,” Louis snickered, reaching over to muss his sister’s hair.  “And because you asked, it was awesome.  You’d love the lads.”  

“Oh, really?” her eyebrows shot up, a sly smile curling her lips, and Louis immediately regretted his words.  What had he expected?  Lottie was only twelve, but she was already beginning to experience the horrific hormones of teen love, something that Louis, being her overprotective brother and the closest thing she had to a father since their parents had divorced, had been hoping would wait a few years.   _Great,_ he thought,  _My baby sister’s crushing on my band._  

“Yeah,” he said reluctantly. 

“Tell me everything,” she grinned, suddenly much more interested in Louis’s stay with the boys.  Louis sighed.  

“Well, they’re all a couple years younger than I am,” he began, and she squealed.  He shot her a dirty look before continuing.  “Zayn’s seventeen, and Liam, Niall, and Harry are sixteen,” he said, smiling slightly as he spoke the boys’ names.  He missed them already.  Lottie mumbled something that sounded strangely like “legal,” but he couldn’t be sure.  

“What are they like?” she asked curiously, propping her chin up on her hands.  

“Zayn was pretty quiet and reserved at first, but he loosened up a bit once we got to know him.  He and Liam are both really cool, really great. “Niall is just this happy-go-lucky little leprechaun with a monstrous appetite and a bad haircut, but we all love him,” Louis grinned happily.  “And Harry’s the youngest; he's this really witty bloke.  He's just very laid-back, and he's the easiest to talk to, out of all of them, I'd think.  We’re close,” he smiled.  

“What was his name?  Harry?”  Charlotte raised her eyebrows, a very devious look in her ocean-blue eyes.  

“Yeah, Harry. That’s what I said,” Louis said in confusion.  

“What’s  _he_  look like?” she pressed.  

“Well,” Louis said, smiling.  “He’s got curly brown hair, green eyes, and these massive dimples that just pop up whenever he smiles, like  _wham_ —Hey, what are you smirking about?  Listen!  I am not letting any of my band mates date my sister!  The youngest  is four years your senior, young lady!”  

“I wasn’t saying anything like that!” Lottie protested, a wicked grin crossing her face.  

“Oh?  Then just what were you saying?” Louis shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Nothing,” Lottie said slyly.  “But you seem awfully obsessed with this Harry bloke—”  

“Lottie!” Louis scolded her, shock crossing his face.  “No!  Harry and I are best mates, period!”  

“All right, all right, keep your hair on!” Lottie said, looking slightly startled as she raised her hands defensively.  “I’m just saying, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”  

“What wouldn’t you do?” Louis muttered darkly under his breath, and she shot him a deadly look.  

“Watch it, Lou, or I’ll tell mum about that party you threw the week you auditioned,” she hissed menacingly, and Louis backed off.  

“Sorry, sorry, I love you forever!” he said hastily.  He could  _not_  have his mum finding out about any more parties.  He knew he should probably quit throwing them against her will, but Louis couldn’t help it; he was a natural-born partier, and it seemed that being a part of a band would finally provide him with a lifestyle that allowed him to rock out with no boundaries.  He would never have to put up with his sister’s constant blackmailing again.  

“All right, well, clearly you’re not about to give me any of your band mates' numbers, so get out.” Lottie said abruptly, picking up her phone again and jabbing a finger towards her door.  

“Yes, your majesty,” Louis bowed, eyebrows rising, and he scuttled back to his room to begin putting some of his things away, lest his mother perhaps  _shoot_  him.  Glancing at his phone, he wondered when Harry would call.  Before Louis had driven back to the city, Harry had promised each of the lads that he would keep in touch over the next two weeks before they got back together for the next round of  _The X Factor._ Louis knew he had said his farewells to the boys just over two hours ago, but after spending thirteen long days in their company alone, he was beginning to miss his band.  Here, in the familiar, drab setting of his home, he was back to being Louis William Tomlinson, the faceless lad, a wall to lean on when someone needed to take a step down and relax, and shelf to set a weight upon when one’s own became too heavy, a warm body to curl around for comfort, but to never provide comfort in return.  Louis had always, always been there for anyone who ever needed him.  

Now it was Louis’s turn to need someone of his own.  He only wondered just who that someone could be.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

“Niall!” Louis shouted as he ran towards the blonde Irish lad, a wide grin stretched across his cheeks.  

“Lou!” Niall replied, beaming as he clapped his hand to Louis’s and threw himself into a hug.  

“Zayn!” Louis grinned, turning to hug the dark Bradford boy.  

“Loueh!” Zayn cheered, pretending to choke with emotional sobs as they embraced.  

“Liam!” Louis shouted, tugging Liam into a third hug.  

“Louis!” Liam smiled, laughing over Louis’s shoulder.  

“Har—”  Louis was interrupted as Harry, grinning, dove for the boy and tackled him in a fierce hug.  

“Hello, beautiful!” he smiled goofily in his ear, and Louis laughed, catching his breath and adjusting himself.  

“Not looking bad yourself, sweetums!” Louis chuckled, his strong arms tightening around Harry’s waist, and Harry beamed, thrilled to be back in the company of his four best friends, and most particularly, Louis.  

Going back to Holmes Chapel, even if it had been for only two weeks, had felt like he was trapped once again in that hellhole, never escaping, no matter how many pink pills he slid guiltily between his lips each morning.  He had called each of the boys at least twice, simply for the feeling of friendship once more, and, during a couple moments of weakness, he had spent over an hour speaking to Louis and Liam through a three-way call at two in the morning, quite possibly annoying the absolute hell out of each of them, but it had been worth it.  Any moment spent talking to the boys was a good one in Harry’s book.  When Liam had finally had enough and said he needed to get some sleep, Harry had apologized profusely to Lou, reluctantly about to end the call, but Louis had insisted that if Harry wanted to talk, then talk they would.  

Harry told Louis things he had never told anyone in Holmes Chapel, told him things he never would tell anyone again.  He trusted Louis, and he hoped that Louis trusted him in return.  He had never had a friend he could speak to so freely without worrying about what they would think of him or whether he would be hearing his deepest secrets and thoughts bouncing around the hallways of school the next morning.  To be quite honest, he was surprise Lou hadn’t run off by now, muttering something or other about how Harry was a weak, pathetic child who couldn’t keep anything to himself, but that was what Harry valued in Lou; he didn’t seem to think  _any_ of those things about him.  In fact, he seemed to appreciate Harry like Harry appreciated Louis, and that wsl more than Harry could have hoped for.  To have a friend like Louis…To have a friend like  _any_  of the lads—It was, to be put bluntly, something special, and for that, Harry was grateful.  

He had to admit, he was quite a bit wary about opening up so fully to the lads after having known them for such a short time.  Harry was generally a person who did not let people in; who put on a façade so fake and so shallow that no one dared to question it.  For Harry to let four strangers come so close to him was…Well, unusual, and it was making Harry feel rather nervous about the entire situation, but on the other hand, Harry trusted these boys, and he had a feeling that they would never let him down.  

“Can you believe it?  We’re going to  _Spain,_ ” Niall exclaimed, his blue eyes as wide and round as the ocean, and Harry grinned with anticipation as his eyes met the letters flashing across the screen of the gate,  _‘Flight A1098 to Marbella.  Departs 10:40.’_

Harry had been quite a few places in his lifetime, but that had mainly been with his father, who loved to travel.  Since his parents had been divorced and his stepdad came into the picture, they hadn’t been outside England very often.  The opportunity to travel across Europe with four of his best friends to perform before a judge of  _The X Factor_ was overwhelming. 

 _And it’s mine,_ Harry thought, a sudden blow of mingled shock and joy striking his chest as the full realization of his situation sunk in.   _It’s my opportunity, and I sure as hell am going to take it._ He had never been so completely determined before, and the fact that in that moment he felt so driven made him realize that maybe, just maybe, he showed a bit of potential, that he was more than just the cowardly, lifeless lad stuck in Holmes Chapel.   _Maybe,_ he thought,  _I could amount to something more someday._  

“Come on, Harry, we’re going to miss it!” Louis shouted eagerly, grabbing Harry’s hand in his own and yanking him forward, his duffel bag flopping around his shoulders.  

“Okay, calm down,” Harry chuckled, grinning as he let himself be dragged up to the airport gate by Louis, right up beside another large group of contestants, looking equally as excited.  Harry smiled, jerking his chin slightly in their direction, and one of the contestants, a stout, petite girl with unnaturally blonde hair and what was clearly a fake tan, winked, her fingers flitting in reply.  Harry smiled slightly, the corners of his lips hardening as he struggled to suppress the leer, and he managed to pass it off as a laugh as Louis attempted to make small-talk with annoyed ticket inspector.  

“I don’t  _care_  why the cow crossed the road, just give me your ticket, sir!” he was saying firmly, rolling his eyes.  

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you,” Louis grinned eagerly.  “The cow crossed the road to get to the  _udder_  side,” and with that, he erupted into hysterical chuckles, clutching his middle, and Harry snickered, beaming as he clapped Louis on the shoulder.  

“All…all right,” he said between giggles.  “Give the nice man your ticket, Louis.”  

“Okay, Harry,” Louis smiled, laughs still dying from his lips as he gave Harry a long glance and handed the inspector his boarding pass.  

“We’re going to Spain,” Niall said happily as he passed the inspector his own pass.  

“Let’s hope you’ve got one-way tickets,” Harry thought he heard the inspector mutter, but he couldn’t be sure.  He dragged his rolling duffel bag down the long, brightly lit gangway after Louis, grinning eagerly at the prospect of traveling halfway across the continent.  It had been a long time since Harry had so much as stepped foot on an airplane, and he was more than excited to relive the experience.  Airplanes always held a content, anticipatory feeling for him.  The fact alone that boarding a plane meant leaving behind Holmes Chapel, at least for a little while, was enough to win him over; the lazy hours of watching Pixar movies and the admittedly flirtatious exchanges with the air hostesses were simply icing on the cake.   _Bingo,_ he thought with a sly smile as he caught sight of the first employee waiting to greet them at the entrance of the enormous plane.  

“Hello there, how are you?” she asked Louis warmly, her pink, glossy lips lifting slightly at the corners.  

“Great, thanks,” Louis said, smiling briefly before scooting past her and dragging his duffel bag down the narrow aisle.  

“No need to ask,” Harry winked as he smiled at the hostess.  “I’m brilliant.”  

“I can see that,” she replied, sending a gleam of bleached teeth his way, and he smirked to himself, pleased that he, of all people, could have such an affect on another person.  It made him feel…Noticed, like he was more than the invisible face he felt that he was.  He knew it was immoral to throw around women the way he did, but over time, it had morphed from something he did when he felt lonely into a nasty habit, one he was ashamed of yet one that brought his self-esteem up a notch or two, and if Harry was being entirely honest, he needed a confidence boost, even if it was one gained through hurting others.  He bit his lip as these thoughts ran through his mind, and he shook his head slightly.  He couldn’t let matters like these stress him out.  This was his time with the boys. 

"Harry, what are you doing?" Louis asked suspiciously, turning and eying the air hostess supciously as she popped her hip in Harry's direction.  "Come  _on."_ he snapped, stretching an arm over the pile of luggage beign dragged behind him and grabbing Harry's hand.  

"Remember, just ring the bell for assistance," the air hostess reminded him with a very,  _very_  obvious wink.

"We'll keep that in mind, thanks," Louis shot back shortly, tugging Harry to their seats.  

"Gee, Lou, where are your manners?" Harry asked incredulously.  

"Where are _hers?_ " Louis murmured under his breath, and Harry's eyes narrowed in confusion as he eyed his best mate.  What was up  _his_  arse?  He shook his head slightly as Louis shoved his back beneath his seat, ending the conversation,  

“All righty, Harold, what’ll it be?” Louis asked in a business-like manner as he collapsed into his economy-class seat and immediately brought the small screen sitting in the seat before him to life with the touch of a finger.  “Looks like we’ve got  _Up, Finding Nemo, Groundhog’s Day…_ ”  

“Hey, Harry!  It’s your favourite movie!” Niall exclaimed from Harry’s other side, jabbing a finger towards a picture on the screen.  “ _Fight Club.”_

“What?” Harry asked in confusion, before realizing that he had told the boys that  _Fight Club_ was his favourite movie.  In all honesty, he had only seen that movie once, and he hadn’t particularly liked it.  His favourite films were titles such as  _The Notebook_  and  _Titanic,_ and other painfully feminine and romantic movies that were usually created for the sakes of broken-hearted women surviving off of ice cream, but harry couldn’t deny that those were a few movies that certainly tugged at his heart strings.  “Oh, right,” he said vaguely, mustering a grin as Niall eagerly tapped the screen and offered Harry a pair of headphones.  He suddenly felt a pair of eyes burning through the back of his head, and turned to see those rich blue orbs eying him intently.  “What’s up, Lou?” Harry asked, blinking slightly and breaking his gaze from Louis’s.  

“ _Fight Club?_ ” Louis asked suspiciously, and Harry gulped, smiling sheepishly and nodding.  Louis rolled his eyes, shaking his head and scrolling through the list of movies on his own screen before selecting one of them.  “Sorry, Nialler, Harry’s not into those sort of films,” he told Niall, sliding a pair of headphones into Harry’s hand and inserting the small chord into the panel below the screen.  “This better?” he asked Harry, his eyebrows rising as he smiled.  Harry glanced at the screen, his eyes narrowing.  

“How did you know I like  _Love Actually_?” he muttered in a low voice, ascertaining that the others would not hear.  Louis shrugged, looking pleased with himself.  

“I didn’t.  You just looked like that kind of guy.  And c’mon, Harry.   _Fight Club_?  Give me a break,” he rolled his eyes, and Harry frowned slightly before laughing quietly in disbelief and wedging the ear buds into his ears, prepared to sit back for the three-hour flight to Spain.  He liked how he could be so…  _himself_ with Louis.  If any of his friends in Holmes Chapel knew how fond he was of romantic comedies, he would never hear the end of it.  But Louis…he seemed to see right through Harry, and while harry was still battling with idea of whether that was a good thing or bad, he was sure that it was different, and perhaps different was just what he had been needing.  He yawned happily as he collected his Coke from the air hostess, to knackered to bother socializing with any members of the female sex at the moment, and took a small sip of the fizzy, sugary substance, letting it fill his stomach and weigh him down.  He felt so incredibly tired… The sound of Louis’s chuckles beside him startled him slightly, and he blinked, jumping in his seat to see him laughing at the images flitting across the screen.  

“Oops.  Sorry, did I scare you, Harry?” he asked, taking a sip of his beer and setting it on the tray hovering over his lap.  

“Mm?” Harry murmured sleepily.  “Nah, just knackered, is all…”  

“Then sleep,” Louis shrugged.  “Mm…Not that simple,” Harry mumbled tiredly as his eyelids fluttered.  Louis gave him an amused look.  

“You’re tired.  You sleep.  I don’t see what’s so complicated about that.”  “I…I just…” He was interrupted as he watched Louis leaned over and stretch an arm across Harry’s field of vision, and before Harry could blink, he felt something strong, soft, and warm cup his cheek, and he frowned in confusion before realizing that it was Louis’s hand.  Louis gently tugged Harry’s head down to meet his shoulder, patting his curls and smiling, looking quite proud of himself.  

“See?  That’s not so complicated, is it?” Louis asked.  Harry began to protest, but it dawned on him just how comfortable he was, his head resting on Louis’s smooth, warm shoulder, and a vague, lazy smile crossed his lips as his eyelids fluttered shut.  “Go to sleep, Harry,” Louis chuckled distantly, his voice sending vibrations humming through Louis’s shoulder and through Harry’s cheek.  

“Mm… Sure thing, Lou,” he mumbled sleepily before a familiar, foggy blackness blurred the edges of his mind, and he fell into a shallow, uninterrupted slumber. 

 

⤞✧⤝

 

“Harry.”  

“Mm.”  

“ _Harry._ ”  

“Mm…” 

“Oi, Harold, wake up.”  

“No…No, I don’t want the candyfloss…”  

“No candyfloss,” Louis chuckled, shaking Harry’s shoulder gently.   _Who doesn’t like candyfloss?_  He wondered indignantly as he struggled to rouse his friend.  

“No candyfloss,” Harry echoed in his sleep, his forehead creasing and his lips forming a rosy pout as he dreamt.  Louis smiled gently.  

“Harry, it’s time to wake up, we’re about to land,” he murmured in the lad’s ear, his lips brushing the soft, chocolate-coloured curls.  

“No, don’t make me eat it…”  

“Harry, c’mon.  Wake up.”   _Blimey, he’s difficult,_ Louis thought, giving Harry a fond, exasperated smile before leaning quietly over his slumped, sleeping form and pressing his lips gently to his warm, smooth forehead.  He nearly laughed at how quickly Harry’s eyelids fluttered open. 

“Mum?” he muttered groggily before catching sight of Louis.  “Oh, hey, Lou,” he grinned tiredly.  

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Louis smirked, and Harry yawned widely before lifting his head from its spot on Louis’s shoulder.  "I didn't realise that your mum still kissed you goodnight," he added, a wicked grin cracking his cheeks, and Harry shot him a tired glare.

“Where are we?” he asked sleepily, blinking and smacking his lips softly together as he looked round.  

“See that?” Louis asked quietly, careful not to wake Niall, who was snoozing on harry’s other side.  He jabbed a finger in the direction of the aeroplane window.  "What?" said, frowning as he squinted to take in the view of startling blue sky and wispy clouds looming past the window.  “That right there is Spain,” Louis said with a smile, and harry blinked, looking stunned.  

“Wow,” he murmured.  “We’re in Spain, Lou,” he grinned, turning towards Louis, and Louis beamed, pleased to share this moment of new experiences with Harry.  He honestly wouldn’t have chosen to share it with any one else, and he felt exceedingly lucky to have a mate such as Harry to spend the time with.  

“And to think,” Louis chuckled, “A month ago, I thought I’d be prepping for uni, rather than flying halfway across the continent to perform on a television show.”  

“I know,” Harry sighed, smiling as he leaned back in his chair to absorb the rush of the past few weeks.  “It’s mad, isn’t it?”  

“I prefer the term ‘amazing,’” Louis said with a grin, beginning to bounce eagerly in his seat as the anticipation of their arrival slowly rose in his gut.  

“Uh oh,” Harry smirked.  “Louis’s getting the jitters again.”  

“What?” an alarmed, groggy Irish voice filled the air, and Louis leaned past Harry to see that their leprechaun had risen, his blonde hair sticking in all directions as he rubbed his eyes sleepily.  “Louis’s got the jitters?  Duck and cover.” He said automatically, shrinking instinctively into a tight, protective fetal position, and Louis laughed excitedly.  

“Don’t be silly, Nialler, we’re on vacation!  Now’s the time to kick back and have fun!” 

“Unfortunately,” Harry said, smirking, “Your idea of ‘fun’ involves a box of Boobears, some beer, and couple of fire extinguishers.”  

“Very true!  Harry, you’re my new party planner,” Louis said seriously, and Harry laughed.  They fell temporarily silent as one of the air hostesses brought the intercom to life with a rough patch of static and began to speak into the radio.  

“Attention, passengers, we have just begun our descent and will be landing in Málaga, Spain in approximately twenty minutes.  The time is 2:10 in the afternoon and it is roughly eighty-two degrees.  We hope you enjoyed your flight and we thank you for choosing British Airlines.” 

“Eighty-two?  Blimey, it’ll be boiling,” Niall whined as he squinted across the aisle and out the small window, eying the beating sun blazing in the sky.  

“You know what that means, boys…” Louis grinned slowly.  He and Harry exchanged a glance before smiling knowingly at each other and throwing their hands in the air, shouting, “Beach party!”  

“How about ‘Rehearsal’ party?” Liam asked, from across the aisle, flashing them a cheesy grin, and Harry rolled his eyes.  

“He’s right,” Zayn shrugged.  “We’re going to have to look good in front of our judge, and let’s face it, we don’t have any idea what the hell we’re doing.”  

“He’s got a point,” Niall said sheepishly to Harry, who nodded guiltily.  

“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure we get down to business,” Louis waved the pair of them away care freely, only bouncing higher in his seat as he grinned with excitement.  

“Calm down, boo!” Harry exclaimed, laughing as he clamped his hands on Louis’s wrists, tugging them down to the armrests and holding him still.  

“I can’t!” he shouted, attracting the attention of a reasonable number of passengers on the aeroplane.  Zayn looked around anxiously, making sure no one was under the impression that he somehow had anything to do with Louis, but Harry was laughing uncontrollably in his seat while Louis grinned goofily, obviously very pleased with himself.  

"Quiet!" one of the members of the other new group, Belle Amie, turned to hiss at Louis, clamping her palms firmly over the headphones buried in her ears and a rather unpleasant scowl on her lips.  Louis turned to Harry, an expression of mocking incredulity crossing his pursed lips, and Harry snorted into his hand, snickering heartily.  

" _Well,_ then," Louis said in a phonily pompous tone, pretending to look affronted, which only brought on a round of loud laughter from Niall.  "Jesus, Zayn, can you believe who we're competing with--" Louis began, and he turned to speak to his friend, but Zayn was, in fact, in full conversation with another Belle Amie contestant.  "You traitor!" Louis shouted at the top of his lungs, flinging his arms into the air and causing several air staff to turn to him in alarm.  

"Louis, calm down!" Liam laughed, smiling as Zayn leaped about a foot in the air as Louis's voice reached his ears, and his head thunked against the low roof of the aeroplane.  

"Louis," he growled, his brown eyes narrowing dangerously.  "

You deserve it," Louis said childishly, sticking his nose in the air.  "Chatting up the competition?  That's a big no-no."  Harry grinned, laughing more uncontrollably than ever, his feet curled to his legs as he rolled in his seat, clutching his sides.  

"Sir, we ask that you remain calm and fasten your seat belt for the duration of the descent." an annoyed air hostess said to Louis, putting a hand on the back of his seat. 

"I'm sorry, but you don't seem to realise that we are traveling with backstabbers!" Louis said urgently, causing Harry and Niall to giggle heartily into their hands while Zayn rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.  The air hostess sighed, sliding her palm warily across her forehead and trudging to the front of the cabin to speak with a second hostess.  Louis watched as she jabbed a finger in his direction and the second hostess shook her head darkly, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Not again..."  

Louis's stomach flopped as the nose of the aeroplane dipped slightly in the air, and a gentle swooping fell through his gut.  

"Harry!" he squealed, grabbed Harry's wrist eagerly in his fingers.  "Harry, we're going to land!  It's like a roller coaster!"  He watched with mild confusion as Harry's face drained of colour and his Adam's Apple began to bob nervously in his throat.  

"Uh oh," he muttered nervously.  

"Harry?  What's wrong?" Louis asked, ducking to peer into the lad's pale face.  

"Don't like coasters..." Harry mumbled to himself, his fingers crawling to his stomach, clamping over the fabric of his shirt.  

"Hey, it's okay," Louis said lightly.  "Just close your eyes really tightly and grab onto the arm rests, and before you know it, the dangerous, perilous, fatal plummet to possible death will be over!" he beamed proudly, and Harry's green eyes widened with anxiety.  "Erm...Wrong choice of words?" Louis chuckled weakly, and Harry swallowed in reply.  As the plane dropped suddenly, causing Louis to grin, Harry gasped, looking shaken.  

"Harry?  I think you have a bit of a  _problem,_ " Louis said, clearly amused as he eyed hsi friend's reaction.  Harry's eyes met his, round with uncertainty, and Louis sighed.  "Hey, it'll be okay.  Nothing's going to happen," he assured him, and he did the only thing he could think of to comfort him and laced his fingers through his, cupping his warm palm gently and running his thumb across the smooth, soft skin.  Harry seemed to relax slightly at his touch, closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath.  "That's right, it's okay," Louis assured him.  "It's just a plane, Harry, you can calm down."  Yet, as the plane swooped once more in the sky, Harry's fingers tightened around Louis's, and Louis smirked as he leaned back in his seat to enjoy the descent.  Harry's hand did not leave his until the wheels of the plane thudded loudly against the gravel of the runway, sending harsh vibrations of friction zipping through the plane and causing Louis's jaw to jitter, and he grinned, amused.  

"Harry?  It's over," he smiled, his eyebrows rising, and Harry let his eyes flutter open and he looked nervously around, letting out a sigh of relief as he realised that the plane was safely on the ground.  

"Jesus, Harry, i think you've got a bit of a phobia!" Niall exclaimed, grinning as his knees bounced energetically against the back of the seat in front of him.

"I don't like being in the air," Harry muttered, teeth clenched.  "If people were meant to leave the ground, we would not have gravity.  People need to  _stay_ on the  _ground._ "   Louis giggled into his hand before he could stop himself, and Harry shot him an exasperated glance as the plane slowly ground to a halt, pulling into the aeroport park beside a gangway.  "It's okay, Harry!  The Tommo is here to protect you!" Louis cried heroically, and Harry rolled his eyes, still looking lightly shaken.  The lads stood uncomfortably, their seats digging into the crooks of their legs as they clambered about the cramped space.  

"All right!" Louis said enthusiastic as they stepped into the spacious aeroport gate a couple of minutes later.  "Who's ready for some fajitas?"

 

⤞✧⤝


	8. One Night

⤞✧⤝

 

"This hotel is the best!"

"I know!"

"Niall, you only like it because of the free room service."

"Yeah, so, what's your point?"

"Guys, how many drawers do you think are in the bathroom?"

"I dunno, go find out, detective Malik."

"That's  _Mister Malik_ to you, Horan!"

"Oi!  That's leprechaun to you,  _Mister_ Malik!"

"Shut up, the pair of you, you're making my kidney ache."

"Whatever.  Harry!  Stop flirting with the receptionist!"

"Calm down, Louis, he's not married."

"That's what  _you_ think," Harry said with a grin as he sidled away from the wide front desk and up to the gaggle of boys huddled in the corner of the enormous hotel lobby.  "As it so happens, Louis and I are happily engaged." He announced pompously, a haughty smirk on his lips as he stuck his nose pompously in the air, his arm linking tightly with Lou's.

"Yeah," Louis laughed, letting his fingers wind through Harry's.  "Sorry, lads, private wedding."  

"Private honeymoon, too," Harry mumbled in a jokingly seductive voice in Louis's ear, his lips sending the small, feathery wisps of caramel blowing about his tanned skin, and Louis laughed, his blue eyes bright, and jammed a finger playfully in Harry's gut as he began to tickle him.  

"N-no!  No!  Louis, you know I can't stand-" his protests were interrupted as a hysterical, steady stream of chuckles poured from his lips, and he doubled over Louis's hands, his own hands wrapping desperately around Lou's wrists as he struggled to detach them from his stomach.  

"Lads, what did we say about bromancing in public?" Liam laughed, rolling his eyes affectionately at the two boys while they goofed around.  

"Yeah, Louis!" Harry managed between snickers, his eyes beginning to water as he batted feebly at Louis's hand.  "No bromance in public!"

"Fine," Louis sighed dramatically, relinquishing his grip on the younger lad and taking a step away.  "I suppose we'll have to save it for our honeymoon." His eyebrows waggled playfully, and Harry grinned, shaking his head in mingled amusement and disbelief.  Liam anxiously eyed the receptionist as she strolled around the front desk and started towards their gaggle in a business-like strut, hands clasped.  They had only been inside the facility for seven and a half minutes; they hadn't already been booted, had they?  But as the woman allowed a sly smile to dawn on her lips and popped her hip, the boys realised that she had no intention of kicking them out.  

"How are we doing today, boys?" she asked with a wide grin as her pinched, brown eyes roamed over the five of them.  

"Uh, brilliantly," Louis said uncertainly, raising his eyebrows at Niall.  It wasn't customary for receptionists to personally greet the guests in a secluded corner of the lobby with a flirtatious smile and a bat of her eyelashes, was it?  Somehow, Louis didn't think so.  

"May I show you to your  _bedroom,_ sir?" she asked, her eyes locking on Harry's, and a slow smirk dawned on his lips.   _Well, now, isn't that just implicative?_  Louis thought, annoyed, and the corner of his mouth turned down slightly as he watched Harry and the receptionist shamelessly toy with each other.  He had become so incredibly used to Harry's close attention over the past couple of weeks that he had forgotten how it felt to feel so...Forgotten.  Unnoticed.  He didn't like that feeling, and he knew he didn't want to feel it again.  He was barely conscious of the way his fingers wrapped tightly, possessively around Harry's forearm and gave him a gentle tug as his other hand clutched the handle of his suitcase, lifting it slightly.  

"We can find our room just fine, thank you," he said coldly to the receptionist, smirking and adding a casual, "Can't we, Harry?"  At the sound of his name, Harry turned, his green eyes darting quickly from Louis's hand, firm on his arm, to his face, his eye glinting, and he smiled, the thought of the woman behind him apparently gone.  

"Course, let's go," he beamed as he grabbed his own duffel bag and bounded happily after Louis and Liam, the other two trialing in his wake and the receptionists shouting desperately, "If you need any assistance, ring up the front desk!"  Louis scoffed quietly under his breath, teeth clenching slightly.  "Ask for Maria!" the woman added, her voice rising.  

"Oh, that won't be necessary!" Louis called over his shoulder as Harry skipped happily behind him, not a care in the world, and the thought of the receptionist thankfully free from his mind.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

" _No._ "

"Yes! Yes-yes-yes-yes-"

"Louis!  Knock that off!  The answer is  _no."_

"Well, then, let's make it a  _go._ Please?  Pretty please, with a Harry on top?"

"Aw, c'mon, Simon, how can you say no to that?" Harry grinned, slinging an arm around his best friend and tugging him to his chest for a hug.  

"Like this," Simon said with smirk, " _No._ " 

"But Simon!" Louis whined, beginning to look quite agitated as he bounced on the balls of his feet, his green eyes brightening as he glared at the tall man before him. "We haven't been to a beach in years!  Please?"

"Not a chance, Louis, you're here to rehearse." Simon said sternly, his forehead crinkling with disapproval as the palms of his hands cupped around his hips.  

"I'll do anything!  I'll clean your room, I'll do your paperwork, I'll drink all your beer for you, I'll run your errands...." Louis rambled, looking determined as he numbered tasks off his fingers, his rosy lips jutting into a sulk.  Simon's left eyebrow shot up, and he turned to Harry.  

"Has he been doing this the entire trip?"

"Trust me, you haven't seen the half of it," Harry grinned, supposing he should have sounded annoyed, but in all honesty, he found Louis's behaviour highly amusing.

"I apologize," Simon chuckled in disbelief, watching with mingled alarm and enjoyment as Louis dashed into the small kitchen of the boys' hotel room.  "Anyway, I came to tell you that vocal rehearsals start in three hours, so I advise you to unpack, get settled, the lot.  I need you boys working hard, because you all know what a rare opportunity you-" 

Simon was cut off as Louis trampled back into the sitting room of the suite, arms absolutely piled with small, bright blue packages.  

"I am prepared to offer you," he said determinedly, "Twenty-four packets of Boobears if you let us visit the beach."  Harry eyes widened as he observed the boy, and a grin dawned on his lips as he chuckled.

"This is getting serious," He snickered, and Louis nodded solemnly.  

"Fine," Simon sighed, rolling his eyes as he pressed the tips of his fingers firmly to his temples.  "You can visit the beach on Friday, but only for a couple of hours, and-"

"Thank you, Simon!" Louis beamed, letting the mound of fruit snacks fall to the floor, scattering noisily about his feet as he threw his arms around Simon's waist, hugging him tightly.  "You're the most fantastic mentor int he history of mentoring mentors." he sighed happily, before his expression filled with uncertainty, and he looked up at Simon, biting his lip, and asked, "You don't still want the Boobears, do you?"  Harry sighed, a fond smile on his face as he bent to scoop up the packets, and Simon shot him a glance of warning before waiting for Louis's arms to drop.  "Be careful, now, boys." he called over his shoulder as he left the lads' suite, shutting the door securely behind him.  

"Great," Harry smirked as Louis grabbed one of the Boobear packages from Harry's arms, tearing it open and tipping its contents into his mouth.  "Day one, and you've already mentally scarred Simon Cowell."  Louis grinned through tightly pursed lips as he chewed his fruit snacks, his eyes morphing into a gentle shade of bright blue.  As Louis smiled, Harry wondered what on earth caused his eyes to shift pigment the way that they did.  Perhaps it had something to do with moods; he had noticed that Louis's eyes were bluer when he was happy.  They seemed to blue quite often when they were together.  

"Sorry," Louis chuckled through his mouthful of gummies, and Harry rolled his eyes, laughing.  

"Keep on like that, and you'll turn into Niall," he grinned, and Louis lazily aimed his middle finger in his direction.  Harry gasped, clutching his chest and wincing as if he had just been shot.  "Ouch!  Oh, yep, right in the feelings," he breathed, and Louis's jaw dropped in protest.  He swallowed the last of his fruit snacks and crossed his arms angrily.  

"Hey!  Only I can say that," he insisted childishly, his lips forming a thick pout, and Harry glanced up at him, a pleading expression on his face.  "Ugh,  _fine,_ " Louis laughed, striding to Harry's side and pinching his cheeks gently in between his fingers, grinning.  "But only because you're Harry and you're special."  

"Hurray!" Harry beamed, tackling Louis in a hug, his arms wrapping roughly around his neck, and Louis began snickering uncontrollably. "My doctor's been saying so for years!" Harry cheered, and Louis giggled, squirming out of Harry's grasp and running a hand through his curls.  

“He was dead-on,” Louis grinned, and Harry beamed, his eyes bright.  

“I smell friendship!” Liam sang happily as he strode coolly into the sitting room, shutting the bathroom door in his wake.  

“You smell friendship?” Zayn wrinkled his nose as he stepped out of the bedroom, smiling and running his palm carefully over his newly styled quiff.  

“Why yes, yes, I do,” Liam beamed, and Harry rolled his eyes.  

“Louis, have you gotten the email from the staff yet?” Zayn asked, turning curiously to Louis.  

“Yep.” Louis replied happily, smiling up at them, swaying slightly from left to right on his feet, his heels rocking back and forth on the wooden floor.  

“…And?” Liam prompted, smirking, and Louis jumped slightly.  

“Oh!  Right!  Um, the judges want us to perform a song called ‘Torn’ by someone named Natalie Imbruglia or something.” He informed them with a shrug.  

“Grand,” Liam said with a smile.  “We can start rehearsaing right away.”  

“No,” The three other boys groaned simultaneously, burying their heads in their hands.  

“Li, Simon just told us that rehearsals weren’t for three hours, we’re  _fine,_ “ Louis whined, exasperated, and Liam sighed, muttering darkly under his breath about procrastination.  

“Three hours?  Nothing to do?  That’s it.  I’m going down to the village to convince the barmaid that I’m of age,” Zayn said seriously, his face set as he started for the door, and Liam sighed as he extended his hand and wrapped his fingers around the fabric of Zayn’s tee shirt, yanking him back.  

“There will be no alcohol on this trip, Louis being the exception,” he stated firmly.  

“Yes, dad,” Harry, Niall, and Zayn chorused boredly while Louis grinned.  

“Be jealous, loves,” Louis smiled as he flopped heavily onto the sofa, grabbing Harry’s arm and tugging him down to the cushions beside him.  

“Jealous of you, or Harry?” Niall smiled, and Harry snickered.  

“Of  _me,_ of course,” Louis said, eying Niall as if he were mental.  “Yeah, admit it, lads; you all want a piece of this,” Harry smirked as he gestured to his chest and snuggled childishly into Louis’s side, his shoulders curling into the warmth.  He felt the smooth, steady tremble of Louis’s torso as he laughed beneath him, his brawny arm draped casually across Harry’s back.  

"You got me there," Liam rolled his eyes sarcastically, and Louis laughed loudly, grinning.

"Sorry, Liam, Harry's all mine, right, curly boy?" he smiled as he mussed Harry's hair playfully.

"That's right!" Harry chirped, a wide smile stretching his pink lips.

“Fine,” Zayn mumbled, ignoring the lot of them.  “Then I’m going down to the village to convince the barmaid to have sex with me.”  While Niall snorted into his hand and Liam blinked, trying to decide whether Zayn was being serious or not, Harry’s head popped up from behind the back of the sofa, his hair mussed horribly.  

“Oh, mind if I join?” he asked jauntily, shooting Zayn and exaggerated wink, and Zayn laughed.  

“Sure, Harry,” Niall rolled his eyes.  

“No,” a sweet, sulky voice from beneath Harry sounded, and Harry glanced down to see that Lou’s face had puckered into a pitiful, stubborn pout, his eyes a strange shade of hazel and his lips jutting forward.   Harry’s resolve dropped, and he sighed with resignation as Louis wrapped his hand gently around his arm and yanked him playfully back into his chest.  “You’re  _my_  forehead, remember?”  

“Always will be,” Harry grinned, his head nestling affectionately into the hollow of Louis’s neck, and Niall hurried around the sofa to perch upon Harry’s knees, clasping his hands and sighing, “Aw!”  

“Shut up, Nialler,” Harry chuckled, wincing slightly as the blonde boy shifted across his knee caps.  

“It’s okay, Harry, he’s just jealous of how adorable we are,” Louis joked, snickering, and Harry laughed, grabbing Louiis’s head in his hands and pressing his lips forcefully to Louis’s forehead, ignoring him when he wriggled in amusement and protest.  

“There.  Now we own each  _other’s_ foreheads.”  Harry said happily, letting his head lull back against the arm rest.   Louis sighed dramatically.  

"I suppose it was only a matter of time.  Not only am I your Boobear, but I guess I'm your forehead too.  It's not fair," he pouted, his eyebrows bunching in the middle of his forehead as he glared childishly up at Harry through ocean blue eyes.  Harry smirked, his fingers snaking through the soft, smooth mess of Louis's hair and tousling it gently.  

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that life isn't fair?" he grinned, and Louis rolled his eyes.  

"God, get a room," Zayn laughed as he grabbed a scarf and strolled casually out the door of the suite, shutting it behind him and leaving an air of finality in his wake.  Harry and Louis looked at each other, smirking happily, and they shouted in unison, "Okay!" Before tackling each other in another staged, fake snog, snickering heartily into each other's ears as their arms tightened around one another.

"Our turn, Li!" Niall shouted gleefully, smiling as he dove for the taller lad and showered his forehead and cheeks with small, foolish pecks.  "Our bromance is better than your bromance!" He called over his shoulder as Liam struggled to escape Niall's tight grasp, laughing all the while.  Harry gasped, his green eyes widening and his pupils dilating as he glared at Niall.

" _What_  did he just say?" Louis hissed dramatically, his dark, rosy lips pursing into a severe grimace as he eyed the blonde boy before them. 

"He  _didn't,'"_ Harry seethed, unraveling his arms from Louis's and rising slowly to his feet to face Niall, who stood beside Liam, hands clasped behind his back as he rocked on his heels and smiling like he had just won a Nobel Prize.  "Take it back!" he bellowed, his eyebrows rising as he grinned at Niall, jabbing a demanding finger in his direction.  

"Never!  Liam, save me!" Niall squeaked, jumping onto Liam's back and smacking his shoulder repeatedly as he scrambled to retreat from Harry.  

"I'm sorry, Ni, but I'm going to have to side with the lads on this one.  Their bromance beats ours any day." Liam smiled sadly, and Niall roared with mock frustration.

"And the victor is crowned!" Louis hollered, pumping his fist in the air.  "Harry, get your party pants on, because we're celebrating."

"Really?" Harry asked eagerly over Niall's chuckles.  "How?"

"We," Louis said solemnly, "Are going to eat cake.  Mind you, this will be no ordinary cake, oh no!" he said, waggling his finger knowingly towards the other boys, his voice rising slightly as Niall gasped with glee.  "This will be a cake that was baked  _here._ In the kitchen."

"By the hotel staff?" Liam asked, his forehead creasing in confusion as he eyed Louis, Niall dangling eagerly off of his shoulder.

"No, silly, by ourselves!" Louis grinned, eyes bright.  A long, deadly pause filled the vicinity, composed of puzzled glances and a long round of foolish blinking before Liam broke the silence, his face crumbling as he erupted into a fit of laughter.  

"You lot," he chuckled hysterically, doubling over in mirth.  "Bake a cake?   _You_ are going to  _bake_  a  _cake?_ Your jokes get better and better, Louis."

"No, really!" Louis insisted.  

"Liam, shut up!  If this lot wants to make me food, then they have the liberty to go right ahead." Niall said happily.

"Bake a cake," Liam snickered, his eyes glistening with tears of suppressed laughter as he whined with chuckles, shaking his head and striding casually into one of the bedrooms, leaving Niall behind in the common room.  

"He doesn't think we can do it," Harry stated sheepishly.  

"Very good, Harold," Niall grinned teasingly, and Harry's nose wrinkled as he rolled his eyes and grinned at the Irish lad.  

"Well, we're about to prove him wrong!" Louis shouted heroically, pumping his fist determinedly into the air and he narrowed his blue eyes and began dashing for the tiny kitchen sitting in the corner of the suite.  

"Wait up!" Niall called eagerly as he sped after Louis, his own lighter, blue eyes bright with the prospect of food in his mind.

"Come hither, Harry, your frilly apron awaits!" Louis sang, and Harry smirked as he strolled into the kitchen after the pair of them, batting away the plain green apron Louis was offering him and playfully giving his shoulder a gentle shove.  

"Okay, where's the cake?" Niall asked intently, his upper lip overlapping his bottom as he hopped excitedly onto the counter, his legs swinging beneath him.  

"We have to  _make_ it, Nialler," Louis snickered, and Harry grinned.  

"I'm sorry?" Niall frowned, cocking his head, his lips parted in confusion, and Louis sighed helplessly.  

"Just watch.  Maybe if you're a good boy, you can lick the bowl."  Niall nodded eagerly, his blue eyes shining, and Harry smirked as he stepped forward to mumble in Louis's ear, "What do I get to lick?"  Louis laughed, turning to smack Harry's arm, eyebrows waggling mischievously.  

"I think you know!" He pretended to wink, and Harry snickered.  "All right, let's get started," he said seriously, clapping his hands onto the counter with a slap.  The three of them froze, falling immediately silent as they blinked stupidly, mouths hanging open, and it dawned on Harry that between the three of them, they had the cake-baking skills of a chipmunk.  

"Uh...Harold, you like to cook.  What do we do first?" Louis asked.  Harry shrugged as if to say,  _'Don't look at me,'_ and Louis turned to Niall.  "How about you, leprechaun?" he questioned, but Niall simply shook his head in bafflement.  

"There's got to be a recipe somewhere," Harry muttered as he yanked his phone from his pocket and began searching the Internet for instructions.  "All right.  We need a maxing bowl." He said, glancing up from the lit screen to gaze aimlessly around the small kitchen.  A loud slamming of cupboard doors commenced before Louis popped up above the counter, a pleased smirk on his lips as he raised a large glass bowl into the air.  

"Now what?" he asked sheepishly, and Harry began reading out directions.  

"No, no, no, there's still egg shell in the bowl!" Harry insisted intently a few minutes later as he jabbed a finger in the direction of the batter, which had now taken up a thick, crumbly consistency.  

"Harry, please, I think if there were any shell in the bowl, I would notice," Louis said, his eyebrows shooting up as he cocked his hip.  

"Well, there you have it.  The sass master has spoken." Niall said seriously as his legs swung beneath the counter.  

Louis and Harry continued to argue for a good five minutes before Harry surrendered and allowed Louis to go ahead and add half a stick of butter.  By the time the last table spoon of sugar had been added, a certain lad by the name of Niall had grown unbelievably antsy.

"Guys, is it ready yet?  Can I lick the bowl now?  How about now?  Now?  Guys, you're taking forever....Now?"  

"Niall, shut up!" Louis and Harry yelled in unison, causing Niall to smile guiltily from his perch on the kitchen counter.  

"Seriously, when will you be done?"  

"Things would be going a lot faster if you would  _help_ us," Harry grumbled, and Niall laughed, rolling his eyes as if that were the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.  

"Here," Louis said as he allowed the last of the rich, brown batter to trickle into the pan sitting on the counter, and Niall leaped eagerly to his feet, grabbing the bowl in his pale hands and making a dash for his bedroom before the two of them could blink.  

"You don't deserve that!" Harry called after him as he slammed the door shut.    "He doesn't deserve that," Harry repeated childishly, and Louis snickered, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, stop whining, silly.  We won't share any of our cake with him."  

"Okay," Harry grinned, burrowing into Louis's chest and causing him to hiccup in surprise as he bowled him into the counter.  "C'mon, now, let's clean up this pan and get it in the oven," he said, grabbing a paper towel and beginning to dab at the edges of the pan, which were drizzled and coated with additional batter.  "Lou," Harry said, blinking as he eyed the soiled counter.  "You are absolute  _rubbish_ when it comes to cake-baking."  

"Oh, and I suppose you're any better?" Louis teased, bumping Harry's hip with his own.  Harry frowned, green eyes narrowing, and ran his forefinger along a thick dollop of batter sitting on the counter before turning to Louis and sliding it across his forehead.  

"There.  Now I  _really_  own your forehead," he grinned happily while Louis blinked with mingled shock and reproach.  

" _Oh,_ " he hissed, a sinister grin slowly crawling onto his lips.  "It's  _on,_ curly."  

"Oh,  _is_  it, Louis?  Is it real--" Harry was cut short as a sudden cold, wet  _glop_  hit his cheek with a soft slap, and he blinked foolishly, raising his fingers and realising that it was,  of course, a smattering of thick, smooth batter.  He turned slowly on the spot to face the lad before him, who, by the way, was looking indescribably pleased with himself, hands clasped behind his back as he rocked happily on his heels.  As Harry stepped forward to scoop a small handful of the cool substance, running slowly between his fingers and trickling to the floor, he wondered vaguely why Louis hadn't yet made an escape.   _His loss,_ He thought darkly as he pulled his full fist back and lunged forward to hurl the slop directly into Louis's stomach.  

"Ew, Harry," Louis whined, his nose wrinkling as he recovered, standing up straight and letting his hands hover helplessly over the chocolate stain now imprinting his white polo.  "This was one of my favourite shirts!"

"Oops," Harry giggled sheepishly, now flashing his own toothy grin.  Louis's blue eyes narrowed sneakily as he smirked.  

"Yeah,  _oops,_ " he hissed, dipping his fingertips into the pan and rushing forward to paint small dots upon Harry's face where his dimples dented his cheeks.  

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed in mild surprise, and Louis chuckled to himself, his eyes roaming over his artwork.  

"You know, it's actually kind of cute.  That's my adorable, dimpled little Harry!" he teased, grabbing Harry's cheeks in his chocolaty fingers and pinching them lightly.  

"Lou, stop," Harry giggled, flinging the older boy off of him and lunging for the pan of batter, clapping his palms to the surface of the mix and drawing them back, dripping slowly with the murky chocolate.  He smacked his hands flatly across Louis's chest, dragging them quickly across his torso and leaving a thick, dark trail upon the fabric of his shirt.  A long, intense moment of silence passed as Louis gaped down at his polo, his blue eyes wide, before he slowly, very slowly, lifted his gaze to Harry's, his lips closing and forming a tight, determined line.  

"That's it," he growled playfully, "It's time to bring out the big guns."  

"What're you gonna do, Boobear?" Harry teased him, highly enjoying himself as he pushed Louis to the edge.  "Pour it in my hair?"  He grinned widely as he watched Louis lift the pan into his hands and start for him, but while the pan slowly grew in elevation, the grin died from Harry's lips, and his face blackened with realisation.  

"Louis....No, Louis!  I didn't mean it!"  

"Oh, but  _I_ did!" Louis sang happily as he dove for Harry, tackling him to the ground and straddling him by the hips, his knees squeezing his waist tightly.  

"No!" Harry laughed.  "No, Louis, please!  Not the curls, anything but the curls!"  

"Welcome to the kingdom of  _revenge!_ " Louis roared, grinning wickedly as he slowly tipped the pan and allowed the entire quantum of batter to flow over Harry's face and hair.  

"Louis, no!" Harry screeched as the cold, wet substance melted across his forehead and cheeks and matted his curls.  He gasped with astonishment, sputtering slightly in an attempt to free his lips of the heavy batter, and his chest rose and fell as Louis crawled off of him, grinning and looking as if he had just won the Olympics.  

"How'd you like that wash, Harry?" he asked sweetly as he grabbed Harry's hand and lifted him to his feet.  

" _You,_ " Harry seethed as he slowly pressed his fingers into his eyes and flicked the batter from his lashes.  With that, he stepped forward and grabbed Louis's soiled shirt in his hands, pulling it tightly to his face to mop the batter from his skin.  

"God, Harry, that's awful!" Louis bellowed as he writhed in Harry's grasp, struggling to manoeuvre out of the way.  "I suppose I had it coming," he sighed as Harry finally stepped back, smirking.  

"Yes, you  _did,_ " Harry growled, his eyebrows shooting up, and Louis giggled, clearly quite pleased with himself.

"Well, the least I could do is help you tidy up," he smiled innocently, batting his eyelashes and stepping forward to press his tongue tightly against Harry's skin, licking the chocolate from his dimpled cheek.  

"Ew, Louis!" Harry shrieked, laughing wildly as he lurched spasmodically away from the Doncaster lad and drag the heel of his hand across his cheek.  

"Don't pretend you didn't like it!" Louis teased, eyebrows rising and falling as he grinned, and Harry rolled his eyes before grabbing Louis's wrist and licking a dot of batter from the back of his hand.  "Hey!" Louis squeaked in surprise, and Harry sniggered.  

"Not so fun, is it?" he taunted.  Louis might have replied, but the next moment, the sound of a door swinging open and the quick patter of footsteps halted any  further actions.  the pair of them glanced guiltily up to see Liam standing above them, his honey-coloured eyes wide with shock, his mouth hanging foolishly open.  

"What on earth..." he choked, gesturing wildly from Harry's tangled, chocolaty hair to the overturned pan sitting on the floor, batter smattered across the tile.  

"Harry licked me," Louis said, pointing a finger childishly in Harry's direction as he pouted.  

"Louis poured the batter in my hair," Harry replied indignantly, crossing his arms furiously over his chest.  Liam blinked quickly before clearing his throat and shaking his head in disbelief.  

"I'm not sure whether I'm a bandmate or a babysitter," he mumbled to himself, snickering slightly as he wet a handful of paper towels in the sink and began mopping up the mess the two lads had made.  As if to prove Liam's point, Niall suddenly made an appearance, shuffling sheepishly into the kitchen in nothing but his boxers and a pair of slippers in the shape of kittens, the now-sparklingly clean mixing bowl wrapped tightly in his arms.  

"Guys?" he asked childishly. "I'm out of batter."  Liam sighed, slamming his forehead into his palm, and Harry laughed.  

"What on earth am I going to do with you lot?" Liam chuckled sadly as he resumed cleaning.  

"Niall, where'd you get your slippers?" Harry asked in wonder as he crawled forward to examine the cat-shaped footwear.  

"Do you think chocolate stains clothing?" Louis asked anxiously, speaking to no one in particular.  

"Honestly, I leave you alone for five minutes..." Liam was rambling.  

"Really, I didn't eve know they  _made_  these kinds of slippers..."  

"Guys, seriously!  This is my favourite shirt..."  

"Really, where did you get them?  I have a thing for cats.  I _need_  those slippers."  

"Maybe if I used an extra quarter cup of bleach...."  

"What's Simon going to say if he finds out about this?"  

"Yeah, her name is Molly..."  

"I don't think you lot understand!  This shirt cost me forty pounds.  I don't think I'll be able to find another one!"  

"We're going to be in so much trouble..."  

"No, she's a Siamese..."  

"Shut up!"  The four boys looked round to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway, shouting at the top of his lungs.  

"Zayn's back!" Liam brightened.  

"Zayn, will you make me a cake?" Niall piped up immediately.  

"Why don't you ask one of the others to make you a--Oh," he said darkly, comprehension dawning his face as he stepped into the kitchen and eyed the mess.  " _That's_ why."  Harry snickered.  

"Thanks for tidying, Liam!" Louis shouted happily as he sprang to his feet, grabbing Harry's wrist and yanking him upright.  "C'mon, Harry, let's go wash up."  

"No shower sex!" Niall hollered with a smile as the two of them whirred around the counter and into the bathroom.

 "No promises!" Harry and Louis shouted in unison over their shoulders, laughing wildly all the while.

 

⤞✧⤝


	9. Little Bird

⤞✧⤝

 

The band's time in Spain had not gone quite like they had expected.  They had had a brilliant time, of course, but their "holiday" in southern Europe had, for the majority, consisted more of strenuous hours of vocal lessons and song rehearsals rather than the anticipated time spent lying in the sun.  Most mornings, they were up before eight- something Zayn and Louis were not particularly pleased about- and were fast asleep no earlier than two in the morning, although that had more to do with the fact that Louis, Harry, and Liam chose to devote the late hours of the night to Pixar movie marathons, rather than their rehearsal schedules.  

Yet, despite their daily exhaustion and the pressure increasing on their shoulders to do well for their performance at the end of the week, the lads, particularly Louis and Niall, were never once seen without wide grins plastered to their faces.  In any case, they were ecstatically relieved when Friday finally rolled around and their trip to the beach arrived.  

"Harry, get your fine arse out here!  We're leaving in two minutes!" Louis bellowed over his shoulder as he stood anxiously in the threshold of the door with Liam, waiting for the other three lads to join them.  

"My arse is not yet ready!" Harry replied vaguely from within one of the bedrooms.  

"Do I need to come in there and  _change_  that?" Louis replied with a grin, and the sound of Harry's muffled laughter reached his ears.  

"Wish you would," Harry chuckled vaguely, and Louis smirked.  Liam rolled his eyes, smiling fondly and adjusting his towel on his bare shoulder.  

"Niall, you ready?" he asked as the blonde lad appeared in the common room, waddling across the floor with an inner tube circling his waist, his palms clamped on the rubbed.  

"Mm-hm!" he said happily as he shuffled forward, and Liam grinned, chuckling to himself.  

"Where's Zayn?" Louis asked, standing on his toes to look over the crown of Niall's mussed head for a sight of the Bradford boy.  

"Hang on, I just need a little more anti-humidity spray..." Zayn called distractedly from the bathroom, his voice trailing off slightly as he presumably focused on his do.  

"Zayn, we're going to the beach, not a fashion show.  You don't need to do your hair!" Liam sighed with a smirk.  

"Liam, Liam, Liam," Zayn sighed sadly as he appeared in the doorway, shaking his head.  "When you've got hair like  _this,_ everything is an opportunity." he gestured to his carefully styled quiff, popping his hip dramatically, and Louis snorted into his palm.  "Watch it, Lou, you're just jealous of this amazingness," Zayn said loftily, sticking his nose pompously in the air.  

"I dunno, I think that my Boobear has beautiful hair," a familiar, low mumble pierced the air, and Louis turned to see Harry standing in the doorway of the bedroom, dressed in a pair of swim trunks and a very toothy grin.  

"D'aw, why thank you, Harold," Louis snickered, mockingly offering him a  playful bow.  

"Anytime, my Boo," Harry smirked, strolling forward to join the group.  

"All right, to the beach!" Niall hollered happily as he clutched the inner tube and bowled forward into the hallway, grunting in surprise as he bounced back and forth off of the walls.  Liam grinned and because dashing after him, followed by Louis, who grabbed Harry's arm, lugging him over his shoulder while he laughed.  Zayn, clearly worried about disturbing his perfected hair, preferred to trail behind at a steady walk.  A couple of minutes later, after a hectic elevator ride, several nasty looks from the neighboring guests, and a flirtatious wink from the receptionist, the five of them were approaching the smooth, white stretch of sand and glistening turquoise waters, looking as if the scene were fresh off of a postcard.  

"Wow," Liam smiled as he eyed the expanse of paradise before his eyes and lay his towel down beneath a grove of palm trees overshadowing the sand.  "Time to relax!" he said happily, stretching out acorss the thick fabric and knotting his fingers together behind his head.  

"Relax my arse!" Louis cheered.  "I'm going windsurfing!"  

"Windsurfing?  Louis Tomlinson, windsurfing is the equivalent of death on a piece of waxed wood!" Zayn snapped, his eyes widening with alarm as he glared up at Louis, scooting as quickly as he could away from the shore as he did so.  

"Lou, you can't windsurf," Liam rolled his eyes.  "And even if you could, where are you going to get the equipment?"  

"Relax, genius, I've arranged it all with Connie." And with that, he waved happily to the four lads before taking off at a relaxed jog down the beach, thin, white sand flying around his bronzed ankles.  As he disappeared behind a thicket of palm trees, Harry lay back in the hot sand, wincing slightly as the grains burned his skin before he adjusted to the warmth and relaxed, his muscles unwinding.  

"It's nice to get away for a day, isn't it?" Liam asked happily as, mirroring Harry, he let himself sink into the sand.  

"Yeah," Harry sighed.  "You know, I've never been to a beach quite like this before.  It's amazing."  

"Easy for you to say," Zayn grumbled, his eyes wide with anxiety as he hugged his legs tightly to his chest and peered over the crowns of his kneecaps, gazing apprehensively at the ocean as its blue waves licked the shore.  

"Relax, Zayn, it's not like we're going to have a tsunami or anything," Niall rolled his eyes, laughing.  

"Shush!" Zayn hushed him angrily, scrambling towards him in the sand to glower down at the Irish lad, moshing his finger against his lips.  "You'll jinx us!"  

"Whatever," Niall chuckled, grinning widely as his feet turned lazily in the sand.

“Wonder how Lou’s coming along on that sailboard?” Liam smirked, smiling into the sun as he adjusted the sunglasses on his nose.  

“Dunno,” Niall said with a calm, content little sigh.  “He’s been out there for awhile, he must be having fun, yeah?”  

“Oh, well goody for Lou,” Zayn grumbled, eying the water as if he were looking into the face of death itself.  Harry snickered.

“What, is the mean, scary ocean too much for ickle Zaynie-kins?” Harry cooed, placing his hand casually over Zayn’s and patting it sympathetically with his fingers, sand cascading over his dark skin.  

"Hey!  The ocean is a nasty, dangerous place!  Six percent of all incidental fatalities have occurred in that bubbling, raging soup of  _death._ ” He said dramatically, eying the clear, turquoise coloured waters as if they were about to rush forward and sweep them all into hell.  Harry pursed his lips, forcing back a snigger, and exchanged incredulous glances with the others.  

“Just relax, Zayn, this is like a holiday.  We’re in Spain!” Liam shouted, grinning widely as he threw his arms back, turning his chest happily towards the startlingly blue sky, as clear and breathtaking as the waters below.  

“Yeah, calm down!  What happened to Bradford Bad-boy?” Harry teased him, drumming his finger’s against the back of Zayn’s hand.  

“Look!  Here comes Lou!” Niall shouted eagerly, lurching forward onto his knees and jabbing a pale finger in the direction of the water.  Sure enough, a small, tanned shape ripped round the bend of the island, streaked with the color of the black and blue wetsuit, and clutching tightly to the hull of the sailboard.  

“Wooh! Yeah, Louis!” Harry, Niall, and Liam cheered him on, pumping their fists in the air while Zayn cupped his free hand around his mouth, bellowing, “Get the bloody hell out of that sparkly death trap!”  Louis, grinning widely as he sent the beautiful blue water spraying high over his head, whizzed through the water as if he had been born on a sailboard.  

“Damn, he’s really got that down!” Niall mused, impressed.  

“You’re telling me,” Harry murmured, watching with pride as his best mate shot across the horizon, his wet, tawny skin glistening in the burning sun.  

“Hey!” Louis shouted to them, looking positively elated as he spun through and over the waves, grinning like an idiot.  

“Looking sexy, Lou!” Harry called, grinning.  

“Hell, you know it, Styles!” Louis replied, and Harry could make out his obvious wink, even at this distance.  He smiled, his cheeks heating slightly, most likely as a result from the pounding heat.  Louis cruised steadily towards them, the board kicking up water.  

“Lou, don’t come too close to the shore!” Liam warned him anxiously.  

“I won’t!” he shouted. Glancing over his shoulder at Liam.  

His eyes, so vividly blue, darted quickly from Liam to Zayn, and from Zayn to Harry.  His smile only widened as his eyes locked with Harry’s, and Harry, grinning back, gave Louis a thumbs-up with his free hand.  

As Louis spun round in the water, his head turned from one shoulder to the other in order to keep his gaze on the beach, and Harry watched as his hair whipped across his forehead, sending a shower of glittering water flying from his head.  Lou’s eyes moved from Harry’s beaming face to his arm, and from his arm down to his hand, still resting comfortably on top of Zayn’s.  The smile slid from Louis’s face a like a pad of melted butter, and Harry watched with confusion as the bright blue in his eyes slowly, very slowly, morphed into a deep, jade green.   _Well, that was strange,_ Harry though to himself, eyebrows rising as Louis scowled at the lot of them.  What had they possibly done to put Lou in such a bad mood?  

“Lou,” Liam shouted in warning as Louis’s concentration slipped, and the board began wobbling, rocking back and forth in the waves.  

“Louis, be care—” Harry began to call, but it was too late; Louis glanced down as the board wiggled beneath him, and his eyes widened with alarm as the bright blue water rushed over the tip of the board, weighing it down, and it launched itself forward.  Louis went flying, his head cracking loudly against the steel hull of the sail, and Harry watched with horror as the lad was tossed roughly into the shallow water with a flop, an audible  _smack_ echoing across the surface of the ocean.  

“Oooh,” Niall winced, his teeth gritted with anxiety as he eyed the bobbing shape in the surf.  "That didn't sound good."

“Oh, god, I hope he’s okay—Harry!  Harry, what are you doing?” Liam asked in alarm, jumping slightly as Harry leapt to his feet, ripping his hand from Zayn’s, and began running as quickly as he could towards Lou, kicking up sand as he went.  That sound, the sound of his head hitting the hull…It would not leave Harry’s head.  

“Louis!” He called, cupping his hands over his lips as he trudged through the water, soaking his swim trunks.  

“Oh, Harry!” Louis replied, looking slightly surprised.  

“Are you okay?  Did you hit your head?” Harry asked.  

“Yeah, I’m fine!  And I think so, but I think it’ll be okay,” Louis shouted.  

“Grab the board and swim back!” Harry shouted.  

“All right,” Louis shouted distractedly, beginning to swim for the board.  

“Is it shallow enough?” Liam shouted from behind Harry.  

“Yeah, it’s only five or six feet de— _Ouch!”_ Louis swore, hissing with pain as he moved forward through the water, bobbing slightly and sending a wave whizzing across the surface.  

“Lou!” Harry shouted, panicked, and he lunged forward in the water, desperate to help out his mate.  He didn’t know why he was so worried; Louis was a grown boy, he could take care of himself.  Yet, somehow, Harry wanted nothing more than to lend him a hand, and that was just what he was going to do.  

“I’m…I’m okay!  Nothing to worry about!” Louis shouted, although Harry could hear the pain in his voice.  

“Rubbish,” he said, his voice lowering slightly as he drew closer and closer to Louis.  

“What happened?” he panted as he swam up beside him treading water.  

“It’s my foot,” Louis whispered, wincing with every kick of his legs.  “I think I stepped on something bad.  It burns.”  

“That’s not good,” Harry muttered, making a dive for the drifting sailboard and wrapping his fingers around the hull.  

“I think it’s bleeding,” Louis said, mild interest mingling with the pain on his face.  

“Let’s swim back, and we can have a look.”  

“Harry, I don’t think I can,” Louis admitted shamefully, and Harry turned to look at him.  Louis’s face had contorted with discomfort, and a horrible hiss whispered through his lips as he moved his foot through the water.  

“It’s that bad?” Harry asked anxiously, swimming back to Louis and grabbing his strong, tanned arm.  Louis nodded, biting his lip.  

“It just…My foot just feels hot…but it shouldn’t…It’s scaring the hell out of me,” he mumbled childishly.  

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry said in a low voice, giving Louis a reassuring glance and threading his fingers through his, tugging Lou’s arm around his shoulder.  

“Here, I can get that,” Louis panted, gesturing towards the sailboard, and Harry reluctantly dragged it through the water towards Lou.  Louis grabbed it in his free hand, swathing the hull in the crook of his elbow, and Harry, very aware of the heat radiating between their hands and the softness of Louis’s skin, began kicking furiously for the shore.  

“Harry, is he all right?” Liam was shouting from the beach, mingled fury and worry etched on his face.  

“That was so  _cool!”_ Niall was exclaiming, performing a spastic Irish jig in the sand, kicking the towel about his feet.  

“I bloody well  _told_ you!” Zayn was hollering, looking both smug and terrified as he scuttled away from the water as quickly as he could.

“How are you holding up?” Harry asked breathlessly, his muscles contracting weakly and his fingers tightening reflexively around Lou’s, the task of dragging a one hundred and sixty pound lad and a ninety-pound sailboard getting the better of him.  

“I should be asking you,” Louis said with a weak laugh, a flinch racking his voice as he eyed Harry’s exhausted face worriedly.  

“Don’t… mind me,” Harry panted, giving him a tired smile.  Louis smiled back gratefully, his own fingers squeezing Harry’s in thanks.  

“Thanks, Harry,” he breathed.  “For helping me.  I’d probably still be out there right now if you and your beautiful curls hadn’t come along.”  Harry chuckled.  

“I know.  You are free to lovingly run your hands through them all you want when we get back.”  

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Louis shouted sarcastically to the sky, and Harry grinned.  He sighed with relief as they finally trudged slowly up the damp shore and onto dry, grainy sand, Louis hopping on one foot and Harry looking like he was about to keel over.  All the same, he forced himself to stand upright and wrap his arm around Louis’s waist, hoisting him along the beach and up towards the huddle of towels where Liam, Niall, and Zayn were waiting.  Louis leaned timidly back on his right leg, bending slightly to eye his injured foot.  As Harry turned to glance at it, he gasped.  A lump the size of a strawberry had formed across the tanned skin of Louis’s foot.  It was incredibly swollen, and possessed the unpleasant colour of an eggplant.  Eight small, black blurs dotted the site of the injury.  

“Erm, I don’t think that’s a good sign,” Louis laughed, grinning easily as he looked down at his foot, looking slightly impressed.  Harry couldn’t help himself he smirked; of course Louis would be making jokes at a time like this.   Louis collapsed onto a towel, wincing horribly as he cradled his foot gently in his hands.  Harry released him, a hand lingering anxiously on his shoulder, and his eyes moved from Louis’s agonized face to his foot.

“Ooh,” Liam hissed, his eyes widening with alarm as he examined Louis’s foot.  “Yep, that’s a sea urchin sting, that is.  My sister got one of those last holiday.  You must’ve stepped on one, Louis.”  

“A sea urchin?  That’s not, like, poisonous, or anything, is it?” Harry asked fretfully, crouching down beside Louis, his hand still on his shoulder.  

“Some are.  Don’t think this one was, though.  You’d be a lot worse off,” he gave Louis a comforting nod.  

“Glad to know,” Louis smiled, rolling his eyes, and Liam chuckled.  

“What should we do?” Niall asked as he leaned over Louis.  

“Erm… I think we need to pull the spines out,” Liam said nervously.  

“Spines?” Louis asked, his head shooting up in trepidation.  

“Yeah,” Liam said warily, running a hand over the back of his neck.  “Like, the little pieces of urchin.  It might hurt a bit, but don’t worry, it’ll feel a lot better once they’re out.  You can hold Harry’s hand, if you like,” Liam smirked, and Niall grinned. 

Harry rolled his eyes, but to his surprise, Louis reached up to his shoulder and frantically grabbed Harry’s hand in his, fear lining his face as he watched Liam intently.  Harry, slightly alarmed, gave Lou’s hand a comforting squeeze.  

“Don’t watch,” he suggested, pressing his damp fingers to Louis’s jaw and gently turning his face away from his foot.  He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting, and Liam’s forehead creased with concentration as he squinted at Louis’s foot, using his fingernails as a pair of tweezers.  As he quickly plucked the first tiny spine from Louis’s foot, Lou gasped audibly, his face contorting with pain, and Harry swallowed, his throat tightening as he watched his best friend suffer.  “Shh, it’s okay, Lou, it’s okay,” he said quickly, trying desperately to calm him down.  As a second barb was removed, Louis’s fingers clenched painfully on Harry’s, and his nails turned white.  “Shh, its okay,” he repeated, his free hand tracing soothing circles across his back.  Six more barbs were removed, each resulting in a whimper from Louis and a flinch from Harry as the circulation to his hand was cut off completely.  

“There,” Liam soothed him.  “It’s over, Louis, all the spines are out.”  Louis sighed, still flinching with pain as his swollen foot throbbed.  

“Thanks, Liam,” he breathed, his hand still tight on Harry’s.  Harry might’ve pulled it away, but seeing Louis hurting was too much, and if holding his hand comforted his best mate, then that’s what was going to happen.  Besides, Harry didn’t particularly mind the feeling of Louis’s strong, hot hand on his; not when he wasn’t squeezing the life out of his fingers, anyway.  

“Where’s Zayn?” Niall asked suddenly, looking round.  

“He went to get a staff member.  Anything to leave the beach,” Liam chuckled, and a weak smile lined Louis’s lips.  

“You okay?” Harry asked lowly, ducking to peer into Louis’s face.  His dark, caramel-coloured hair was still dripping down his forehead, letting salt water trail onto their locked hands.  Louis nodded, looking a bit more relaxed, and Harry smiled with relief.  

“Over here,” a familiar voice drifted to their ears, and Zayn reappeared around a bend of palm trees, this time accompanied by one of  _The X Factor_ staff.  

“Hey, Greg!” Liam waved him over, and he jogged towards Louis.  

“What have we here?” He asked in mild interest.  

“Sea urchin,” Louis mumbled.  

“There’s always one,” Harry heard Greg mutter, and he smirked while Louis rolled his eyes.  “Alrighty, let’s go,” Greg said, crawling behind Louis and lifting him up beneath the shoulder.  “Harry, do you want to get his other side?”  

“Sure,” Harry said, “But you’re gonna have to let go of my hand, Lou,” he added, winking at the Doncaster boy lying between them.  Louis turned pink with embarrassment and childishly stuck his tongue out at Harry before releasing his fingers.  Harry flexed his sore hand before sliding his arm around Lou’s waist once more and lifting him into the air.  Louis hopped along the beach on his right foot, supported by Harry and Greg.  Harry’s fingers tightened on Louis’s hip, and Louis shot him a small smile out of the corner of his eye.  Harry grinned in return.  “This’ll make a right story for your sisters, no?” he teased, and Louis snickered.  

“Course.  They think sea urchins are mermaid currency.”  Harry laughed as the three of them stumbled awkwardly to a large white van sitting in the hotel parking lot, and Greg helped Lou into the passenger’s seat.  

“All right, Harry, get back to your band mates,” Greg said, walking around the van towards the driver’s seat.  

“What?  Can’t I come?” Harry asked anxiously.  He didn’t want to let Louis leave his sight when he was hurting so badly.  

“No, not possible.  Don’t worry, Louis will be just fine.” Greg reassured him with a smile.  

“Harry,” Louis whispered, mock-somberness filling his voice as he gazed up at Harry, and he grabbed his arm in his hand.  “If…I don’t make it…” he choked dramatically, and Harry snickered, his face contorting with laughter.  “Just remember that I…That I...”  

“That you what?” Harry challenged him with a grin.  

“…I spilled syrup all over your purple Jacks Wills hoodie.”  

“Awh, of course I’ll remember, Boo—wait, you  _what?_ ” Harry exclaimed, realization dawning on his face as his eyes widened.  Louis smiled widely, clearly very pleased with himself.  Harry might have been angry—scratch that, he was  _seething_  at the loss of his favourite hoodie—but what with Lou’s current state, and the way those hazel eyes were glinting cheerfully in the sunlight, he simply couldn’t muster the energy to shout at him.   _Another time,_ he thought darkly, a sinister chuckle pressing at his lips.  

“We better be off,” Greg said, nodding politely towards Harry as he climbed into the car.  

“Bye, Lou,” Harry said reluctantly.  

“Wait!” Louis called as Harry started for the beach.  

“What?” Harry asked, confused as he turned and walked back to Louis, hands shoved in the pockets of his wet swim trunks.  Grinning, Louis extended a tan, muscled arm and ran a hand slowly through Harry’s curls, tousling them slightly.  

“There.  Okay, Greg, we can go!” Louis said happily.  Harry shook his head in disbelief, chuckling, and waved goodbye as the van disappeared out of the parking lot.  He only hoped that Liam was right; that the urchin had not been poisonous, and that Louis would be okay.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

Louis was pissed.  At that moment, he should have been in the hotel conference room, rehearsing ‘Torn’ with the others, preparing for their massively important performance in front of Simon and the guest judge.  Instead, he was stuck inside the tiny exam room of a hospital, waiting for Greg to complete the paperwork necessary to release him back to the lads.  He didn’t understand  _why_  he had needed to visit the hospital in the first place.  After Liam had painfully yanked out all those spines, the swelling in his foot had slowed somewhat, and when he and Greg had arrived at the hospital, the technician informed them that all they needed to do what apply some vinegar to the area.   _Vinegar._  Honestly, did they need to drive forty miles and wait an hour and a half in an ominous, sterile hospital for a tablespoon or two of  _vinegar?_ Somehow, Louis didn’t think so.  

_God,_ he was pissed.  He hadn’t been this angry since he had auditioned for  _The X Factor_ over a month ago, and Daisy and Fizzy thought it would be amusing to tell Dermot that he had once gone starkers at a party while he was drunk.  Thankfully, the producers had edited  _that_  bit out of his audition.  But that had been a completely different kind of rage.  This anger was composed more of sheer anxiety and agitation.  What if his lack of practice and rehearsing lead to Simon’s rejection, and the lads were sent back home, all because of him? Would he be responsible for crushing the dreams of each and every one of them?  His eyes darted back and forth between the clock hanging above the white frame of the exam room door and the platinum face of his wrist watch as time slow, very slowly, ticked by.  His uninjured foot jiggled impatiently in the air as he tittered his teeth, counting down the seconds until he could reunite with the band.  Where on earth was Greg?   _Speak of the devil,_ he thought with relief as the broad figure of Greg appeared in the doorway.  

“Calm down, Louis, or we’ll have to whisk you off for blood pressure checks as well,” Greg chuckled as he absorbed Louis’s impatience.  

“Can we go?” Louis asked hopefully, hopping off the table and onto one foot, the other, still very swollen, dangling limply beside his knee.  

“Yes, we can go.  C’mon, I’ll help you out.”  He wrapped a strong arm around Louis’s side.  Somehow, it did not feel as comfortable as it had when Harry was helping him, but that was probably due to the difference in height shared by Greg and Harold.  “Okay, buddy, let’s get you up,” Greg grunted, lifting him onto the passenger’s seat, and he sighed with relief as he was able to tug my left calf over his knee and elevate his aching foot.  “There we are,” Greg grinned, climbing into the driver’s seat of the van and putting it into gear, starting back to the hotel.  The minutes slowly ticked by, and it dawned on Louis that this was going to be quite a long ride.  Sighing, he rested his elbow on the ledge of the van door, letting his cheek slump against the hell of his hand.  “In for some tunes?” Greg asked uncomfortably, and Louis nodded gratefully.  “Sorry, I usually don’t ask whenever I’m driving  _The X Factor_ lot around, because the second I turn on the radio, they’re off belting the lyrics,” Greg chuckled.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep it down,” Louis smirked.  

“Thanks,” Greg laughed wryly.  He fiddled with the dial, swearing slightly as he attempted to adjust to the Spanish radio network.  

“Oh, stop here,” Louis said quickly as the familiar notes of  _The Fray_  echoed through the small van.  

“Honestly?  That’s all I ever hear these days,” Greg grumbled, but he left the station where it was.   _Oh, oh, be my baby, and I’ll look after you…_  Louis sang quietly to himself, his head resting against the cool pane of the window.   _Window pane,_ he thought to himself with enjoyment.   _Like Liam Payne.  Yeah._ He grinned goofily to himself, feeling content as the notes of the song drifted about his head.   _I’ll look after you…_

The song described Louis in a lot of ways, and not just because he had covered it a year or so back.  Louis seemed to have a caring instinct, and somehow, especially with his sisters and the lads, it had been brought out more clearly than ever in the past couple of months.  Sure, he was more immature than the twins on occasion, and he was widely known on  _The X Factor_ for his infatuation with Boobears, Curiously Cinnamon, and onesies, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there for people when they needed him.  

“You know what, kid?” Greg asked suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.  “Forget what I said.  Sing your heart out; you’ve earned the right.”  Louis grinned towards the driver, and he winked, cranking up the radio.   _Whoa, whoa, be my baby, and I’ll look after you._   

Louis would always be there for the people who needed him, every time.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

“Louis?  Hey, Louis, wake up, laddy.  We’re back.”  A vague, distant murmuring awoke Louis what felt like years later.  His eyes creaked open slowly.  

“Mm?” He mumbled, and his glanced up to see Greg chuckle slightly as his eyes focused, the blurriness fading from his vision.  

“We’re back at the hotel.  You ready for final rehearsals?”  

“Nah, I wanna go home,” Louis yawned.  “I mean… Sleep…I mean…One Direction…” He yawned widely, pressing a palm to his mouth, and Greg laughed.  

“I know, buddy.  Let me help you out, I don’t think you can walk on that foot yet.”  

_Oh._ In his slumber, Louis had completely forgotten about the stings he had endured hours before, and he gasped quietly as he glanced down at his foot.  Its condition had not improved over the course of their drive form the hospital, although it had not worsened either.  Louis supposed with was a good sign, right?  He winced slightly as he eyed the large, swollen half of his angry red foot, knowing as it throbbed painfully that it was not ready to support any weight.  He sighed, pushing himself carefully off of his seat and sliding down onto the hot pavement, his single sandaled foot scarping roughly against the gravel.  He slung his arm around Greg’s shoulder, and the two of them hopped along through the car park and towards the towering hotel.  Louis wondered if the lads would be happy to see him.  As if his thoughts had conjured them, the large front doors swung roughly open, and a loud, ambient chatter filled the air, mingled with the voices of Harry, Niall, Zayn and Liam.  A slow grin stretched across Louis’s face as they rounded the corner and caught sight of him.  

“Louis!” Harry bellowed, smiling like a madman as he dashed for his best mate, colliding roughly into him and throwing his arms around his waist, lifting him slightly into the air.  

“Harry!” Louis hollered in reply.  “Blimey, happy to see me, are we?” he laughed in his ear, beaming at the sight of his best friends.  

“Course!” Harry replied cheerfully.  “God, you’re such an idiot, Lou!  Only you could be such a dork.”  

“Hey!” Louis snapped playfully, but he was grinning as Harry set him back down, and he turned to hug the others, receiving hearty claps on the shoulder and high fives, and a round of very nervous reprimands from Zayn.  

“C’mon, we’ve got a song to sing!” Liam shouted happily, and they all cheered.  Harry slid his strong arms beneath Louis’s legs, the cargo brushing his skin, and he wrapped another arm around his middle, hoisting into the air just as Zayn followed suit on Louis’s other side.  Louis grinned goofily as the lads carried him into the hotel.  

“I can  _walk,_ thanks,” he teased them, and Liam rolled his eyes, smiling.  

“Whatever.  You!  You have a lot to learn, my amigo!  Let’s get started,” he said as they entered the enormous conference room, where a rehearsal room for the contestants had been established.  A round of vocal coaches sat in one corner of the room, huddled around a piano and a table of sheet music, and a wide space of the floor had been cleared for the contestants.  

“Oh, good, you’ve got the last one,” One of the coaches glanced up, waving them over with relief.  

“Um, thanks,” Louis mumbled confusedly, and Harry snickered, setting him down on the floor.  

“Don’t worry, you’re first in my book, Lou,” he pretended to bat his eyelashes, and Louis flipped his hair dramatically.  

“Oh, why Harry, I’m blushing!” he joked, and Niall predictably hooted with laughter.  

“Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people,” Harry grinned arrogantly, and Louis laughed, although he was sure Harry could make anyone blush, if he truly wanted to.  

“What are we doing for the number, then?” he asked eagerly, looking round at the lads and the vocal coach.  

“I’ve got first verse, Harry’s got chorus and breakdown, Niall and Zayn are taking back-up vocals, and you’re harmonizing with Harold.” Liam instructed him in a business-like tone.  Harry grinned, bumping Harry’s hip with his own, and Louis smiled.  He always enjoyed singing with the lads.  It made him feel like he was a part of something…bigger.  Something special.  And he  _loved_  that.  He also could never believe he was being granted the honour of accompanying talented singers like Harry and Liam.  Zayn and Niall were brilliant as well, of course; incredibly so.  Louis knew he would never be up to scratch with the others, but somehow, as long as he was part of the group, that was just okay with him.  

“All righty, ladios!” Niall chirped happily.  “Let’s get rehearsing!”

 

 ⤞✧⤝


	10. Grade 8

⤞✧⤝

 

Harry took a slow, deep breath.  He felt very, very confused at the moment.  He should be terrified.  He should be absolutely, positively petrified with the approach of the lads’ performance before Simon, yet somehow… The only thing rushing through his system was a complete, overwhelming calm.  It was strange, just how strong it was, and Harry felt nervously that it might have been something slightly…unnatural.  He should not feel so at ease.  He knew that.  Hell, they were as unprepared as a group could get; they had only rehearsed the number for twenty minutes with every member of the band present, and the vocal coaches hadn’t seemed to pleased with their efforts, but for some reason, that wasn’t bothering him, not bothering him at all.  

“Scared?” Niall asked, sitting down beside him in the entry way of Simon’s rented beach mansion, his face for once free of a smile.  

“No,” Harry said truthfully.  

“I am,” Niall admitted quietly, his fingers knotting together in a fidgety tangle, his blue eyes full of possibilities as he stared dimly at the floor.  

“Don’t be.  It’ll be fine,” Harry shrugged, patting Niall’s shoulder.  

“You don’t know that,” Niall said, glancing anxiously up at Harry and biting his lip.  

“No, I don’t,” Harry confessed.  “And you know, now that I think about it, we’ve got a fairly high chance of going home, seeing as we’ve barely rehearsed properly, and the coaches hated us, and we sound more unprepared than a…Niall?  Niall, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” Harry said frantically, his eyes widening with alarm as he noticed that the Irish boy’s lip had begun to tremble.  “Nialler, I’m sorry, I’m being dramatic.  Don’t listen to anything I say, okay?  Niall, please…” He sighed helplessly as Niall’s eyes glazed over with fearful tears and he stood up, barreling for the bathroom and locking the door.  “I still think we’ll get through, though!” Harry shouted desperately to the door.  He watched as Liam rounded the corner.  

“Harry, why is Niall crying?” he asked with mild interest.  

“Nerves,” Harry shrugged innocently.  “Which I may or may have not caused…”  

“What?” Liam asked curiously, cupping a hand round his ear.

“Nothing!” Harry said quickly, patting the bench beside him. Liam sat down, his shoulders shaking slightly as he drew long, deep, rattly breaths.  “Hey, it’s okay, Li.  I know we kind of suck, but… You know…” Harry groaned silently to himself.  He really needed to quit giving these pep talks.  

“Sorry,” Liam gulped, his throat tight.  “It’s just…The last time I was in this position, I was sent home without the bat of an eye.  I don’t think I can go through that again.”  Harry’s face tautened as he remembered that Liam had been through this all before.  

“Was it bad?” he murmured quietly, “You know, performing in front of Simon?”  

“Not really,” Liam said thoughtfully.  “I mean, he’s got this vibe that makes you feel comfortable around him, you know?  But…But I didn’t know I would be leaving the next day.”  Harry sat quietly, pondering this.  He honestly couldn’t imagine having to separate from the boys.  For all he knew, he could be on a plane back to Holmes Chapel in twenty-four hours’ time, never to see Liam, Niall, Zayn, or Louis again.  That…That wasn’t going t happen, was it?   _No, you’re not thinking about that,_ he said forcefully to himself.  

“Thinking about what?” Liam asked in confusion, and Harry smacked himself on the forehead.  There had to be some sort of medication for people who thought out loud, hadn’t there?  “Medication?  What?”  

“Ugh!  Just forget it,” Harry growled in frustration.  “Liam, remember boot camp, when Dermot called the five of us to the stage, and you said we were all in this together?”  Liam nodded.  “Nothing’s changed,” Harry shrugged.  “We’ve all got each other’s backs.  And if Simon  _does_  send us home, then we’ll all get through it like we get through everything now—together.”   _Wow,_ Harry thought.   _That sounded a lot less cheesy in my head._  

“No, Harry, I don’t want any cheese.” Liam sighed, and Harry grumbled angrily to himself.  

“We’ll be fine,” he said confidently, pursing his lips tightly before anything else left his mouth that shouldn’t.  He clapped Liam on the shoulder, smiling tightly, and strolled to the bathroom to comfort Niall.  “Oi, Nialler!  Liam said he’s making you cheese.”  He heard a grunt of indignation from Liam, and grinned warily as the miserable sniffling coming from the bathroom paused, and Niall opened the door, his eyes red.  

“He did?” he asked childishly.  

“Go get it, Niall, before Liam backs out.”  

“Leeyum!” He hollered, wiping the back of his hand across his wet cheek and hurdling towards the kitchen, Liam sighing and trudged after him, a reluctant smile tugging on the corners of his lips.  Another shout jolted Harry, and he turned at the sound of Louis’s voice.  

“Yello?  Do I have any friends left on this planet?”  Harry turned, looking around for a sign of his mate.  “Alrighty, I’ll take that as a no." Louis continued to yell.  "How about buddies?  Mates?  Acquaintances?  Good Samaritans?  Anyone?” Harry snickered as he wandered about the house, looking for Louis, and Harry heard him huff audibly from the stairwell.  “I’m so lonely, mister lonely, got nobody, on my own, up here in the sky with diamonds… Louis in the sky with diamonds…” Louis sang loudly to himself, his smooth, sweet voice sounding incredibly bored.  Harry laughed as he rounded a corner as caught sight of Louis draped over the railing of the stairs, leaning over and glaring down at the floor below, his arms swinging beneath him.  “Harry!” he shouted happily, spotting Harry upside-down as his feathery hair wafted from side-to-side, hanging from his head.  “I knew you loved me!”  

“Always have!” Harry chuckled as Louis righted himself and hobbled over to his friend, throwing his arms around him in a rib-crushing, chest-compressing hug.  “Ow!” Harry winced.  “Lou, you did that on purpose!”  

“You can’t prove anything,” Louis hissed dramatically, his eyes narrowing.  They resembled shards of glimmering blue and green today, Harry noticed.  He wondered why their colour was never constant.  Some might find it odd, but Harry found it fascinating, especially when compared with own green eyes, which never seemed to shift in pigment.  

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his hands lingering subconsciously on Louis’s shoulders as he leaned back slightly.  

“My sandal fell down there,” Louis jabbed his thumb in the direction of the stairs.  “And I can’t get it because I am, and I quote one wise Zayn Malik, ‘A blithering, crippled idiot.’  Yeah.” he said sheepishly, a quirky expression on his face.  Harry grinned.  

“Why’s your sandal down there?” he asked curiously.  Louis’s tanned cheeks flamed, red rushing to his skin.  

“Erm…I may or not have been having a staring contest with my own shadow…”  Harry blinked.  

“You’re kidding, right?  Please tell me you’re kidding.”  

“Sorry,” Louis sang with a giggle.  “I mean, you have to admit, it’s easy to see how I was distracted.  I mean, the guy was just  _staring_ at me, never blinking!”  

“That’s because shadows  _don’t have faces,_ Lou,” Harry said slowly and clearly, as if Louis was deaf.   

“I know!” Louis exclaimed, giving his own shadow a nervous glance.  “They’re like slender men!” he added in a hiss, and Harry snickered.  

“You’re a special Boobear, Lou,” he finally managed, walking over to Louis and tugging him into a hug, wrapping his neck in the crook of his elbow and mashing their temples together.  

“Ouch, watch it, Harry!  And of course I’m a special Boobear.  I’m  _your_ Boobear!” Louis smiled proudly, looking up at Harry with those piercing eyes, which had somehow, in the short time that he and Harry had spoken, morphed back to a pure, deep blue.

“And don’t you forget it!” Harry hollered as he wriggled out of Louis’s grasp and started down the stairs to retrieve his sandal.  

“Lads?  You ready?” Niall poked his blonde head round the corner, his voice slightly muffled by the chunk of cheddar he was munching on.  Poor Liam.  Harry would have to apologize to him later on.  The smile on Louis’s face faded slowly as he gazed at Niall, the shards in his eyes melting to a gentle green.  

“It’ll be okay, guys,” Harry said, somewhat uncertainly.  “It’s…This is all of us.  We’ve got this.” It didn’t quite make sense, what he was saying, but they were only words he could think of to ease the others’ discomfort.  Louis took a deep breath, his lips pursing as he nodded seriously, looking suddenly very deep in thought.  

“Ready?” Niall croaked, and they nodded.  Louis slid his swollen, purple foot carefully into his sandal, wincing and hissing slightly as the leather compressed the skin, and Harry’s forehead creased with worry.  

“You all right?” he asked.  Louis nodded once more, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.  “Alrighty, then, let’s go, shall we?” he asked, a nervous smile dancing across his lips, and Harry smiled in reply, his heart beginning to thrum quickly in his chest.  

As they walked, Niall, the terrified little leprechaun, crammed the last of the cheese into his mouth and grabbed Harry’s hand in his, anxiety rippling across his face.  Harry chuckled sympathetically as Niall clung to him like a little brother, even though Niall was older than him, and Harry shot him a reassuring grin, one that, needless to say, was not returned.  Louis looked around at the sound of Harry’s laughter, and his gentle blue eyes hardened as they zoomed directly onto Harry’s and Niall’s hands, cupped around each other.  His eyes narrowed slightly, and without hesitating, he shot Niall a suspicious glare and laced his own fingers through Harry’s other hand.  Harry blinked in surprise, looking back and forth between the two boys and shrugging.  Louis’s hand tightened on his, and he replied the gesture with a reassuring squeeze.  Louis glanced at him from the corner of his sea green eyes, and a tiny, cool smile curled a single corner of his lips.  Relieved that no one was bawling anymore, Harry and the other two walked in silence to the kitchen, where Zayn and Liam were waiting, speaking quickly and quietly to each other, nerves clear on each of their faces.  Liam turned, and at the sight of the clingy trio, he forced a tight grin to his lips and stood up, mingled excitement and concern in his eyes, and Harry was sure they mirrored his own.  

“Remember, all in this together, lads,” he said, just as he had when they had been put together as a band, and he and Harry exchanged a knowing grin before Niall dropped Harry’s hand and they swung open the door of the patio, where Simon and the celebrity guest judge were waiting.  Harry waited patiently for Louis to drop his hand, but as they stepped onto the cobblestone and into the bright sunshine, he only gripped it more tightly.  

“It’ll be great, you’ll see,” Harry murmured in his ear, and Louis, looking deadly serious and, to Harry’s surprise, slightly intimidating as he nodded and dropped Harry’s hand.  They walked forward until they approached the pair of judges waiting beneath a marquee.  

"Hi, boys," Simon said brightly from behind a pair of glinting silver aviators as they approached the pair of them.   _Well, he seems to be in a good mood,_ Harry thought, his confidence rising ever so slightly.  They mumbled nervous hellos and shuffled anxiously on the cobblestone.  "Ah, I can see which one got stung," he said in a businesslike tone as he craned his neck to eye Louis's swollen foot.  "What'd you do?"

"It was a sea urchin," Louis said sheepishly, smiling with comfortable embarrassment and leaning backwards onto his unharmed right foot.  

"Is it painful?" Simon asked sympathetically, squinting through the sunlight.  

"Yes, very painful," Louis said, and as he winced slightly in effect, Harry could only assume that his foot had given him a sharp throb of pain.  

"You're all right now?" Simon asked uncertainly, and Louis grinned, replying, "I'm good, yeah," and Harry smiled.  

"You feeling confident, yeah?" Simon asked, tilting his head slightly in curiosity as his hidden eyes roamed over the five of them standing awkwardly on the patio, most likely looking like a pack of lost puppies.   _Yes, we are an impressive bunch,_ Harry thought, dark humour bouncing around his mind as a wry chuckle lit his lips.  

"Yeah," he replied somewhat truthfully, while Louis mumbled in response and Liam simply swallowed, averting his gaze.  

"Good," Simon said meaningfully, and he leaned back slightly in his chair to await their first performance as One Direction. 

 

⤞✧⤝

 

Louis’s heart thrummed lightly against his chest echoing in his ears.  He supposed he should have been thankful; his was not nearly as nervous as he had been during his audition and his boot camp performance, for he hadn’t been surrounded by other lads to take the pressure away from him, and he hadn’t been in the warm, comforting Spanish sunshine, yet somehow, the nerves still managed to make themselves noticeable as they wriggled in the pit of his stomach. 

 _Knock it off, you don’t even have a solo,_ He scolded himself, feeling a shock of sympathy for Harry and Liam. However, they seemed confident enough, and Louis knew as well as anyone that they had more than enough talent to pull the entire lot of them through to Finals.   _God, I hope we make it,_ he thought to himself, biting his lip as the gentle guitar chords filled the bright, humid air.  After spending so much time with Harry and his encouraging support, Louis had managed to drop the pessimistic attitude and regain a bit of buoyancy.  He only hoped it wasn’t in vain.   _No,_ he told himself firmly,  _Today, you’re going to have fun._

“Thought I saw a girl brought to life,” Liam began, his smooth, gentle voice careening through Louis’s ears and drifting about the space, and Louis nodded nervously as he listened to him sing.  “She was warm, she came around, she was dignified, showed me what it was to cry.” Louis glanced up at the judges, delighted as the celebrity judge, an exotic woman with long, flowing black hair and an…interesting piece of jewelry hanging about her forehead, nodded in time to the music, smiling to herself.  “But you couldn’t be that girl that I adored,” Liam sang, his brown eyes softening as he sank into the song.  “Don’t seem to know or seem to care what your heart is for, but I don’t know her anymore.”  Louis watched with interest as Harry stepped forward to take the chorus, emotion flooding his face as he lost himself in the music.  

“There’s nothing left, I used to cry, my conversation has run dry, that’s what’s going on…”  Louis smiled with pride at his best friend, his teeth glinting in the sun as he listened to the sheer perfection of that husky voice.  He supposed he should have been jealous.  Hell, he’d wanted talent like that since he had learned to talk, but somehow, he only found himself proud of his friend, and exceedingly happy for him.  Harry deserved that talent, and he was flaunting it perfectly.  A strange sort of gleeful contentment rising in his chest, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth to join in the chorus with Harry.  

“Nothing’s fine, I’m torn, I’m all out of faith, this is how I feel, I’m cold and I am chained, lying naked on the floor.” They sang, and Louis’s eyes flickered back and forth between Harry and the judges.  Harry was incredible when he sang.  He fell into some sort of character that he never seemed to had when he wasn’t making music, and it was just…Louis smiled once again as he sang quietly, pleased to be backing Harry’s vocals.  That had to prove something, right?  That he had been chosen to accompany a singer as brilliant as Harry?  He had to show some promise…Hadn’t he?  All he wanted was to be good.  That was all he ever wanted.  

“Illusion never changed into something real, I’m wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn.  You’re a little late; I’m already torn,” Harry and Louis chorused together, and Zayn echoed quietly behind them.  Louis could not stop the blissful smile that stretched across his lips.  This band, this was perfect.  This was absolutely everything.  In that moment, he knew right then and there that they would undoubtedly go far.  He didn’t know how or when, or just the distances they would travel, but he knew that as long as they kept this up and stuck with each other, they would be absolutely unstoppable.  They sounded incredible.  

“Nothing’s left, I used to cry, my inspiration has run dry,” Harry sang, his eyes closing slightly as he let his smooth voice fill the air.   _Him,_ Louis thought proudly.   _That’s Harry Styles, my best friend._  “That’s what’s going on, nothing’s fine I’m torn; I’m all out of faith, this is how I feel, I’m cold and I am chained, lying naked on the floor.  You’re a little late, I’m already torn…” Louis let his voice trail off into the microphone with Harry’s, and as they let their hands fall to their sides, Harry’s green eyes locked on Louis’s, and they shared a brief, relieved smile.  

“See you, guys,” Simon said, not daring to let anything show on his face.  Louis, still smiling lightly with the bliss of performing, let a long, shaky breath stream from his lips, and he slung an arm around Harry's shoulders.  

“Well,” Liam whispered, seeming unable to speak very loudly. “Good job, lads.  I’m proud of us, even if they may not have been.” He jerked a thumb discretely towards the judges as the lot trailed across the patio and stepped back inside.  Zayn pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, looking incredibly strained.  Harry’s Adam’s apple rose and fell in his throat, and his jade green eyes were glazed with stress.  

“Hey,” Louis said, trying very hard to keep the mood light and relaxed.  “No pointing getting worked up now.  We’ve done all we can.”  He wrapped his free hand around Niall’s, who nodded, looking slightly less troubled, and as Harry turned to glance at Louis with a tiny smile, he caught sight of their entwined hands, and once again, that suspicious glare crept into his eyes before he raised a hand and grabbed Louis’s fingers is his as Lou’s hand rested on his shoulder.  Louis sighed, feeling mingled bafflement and exasperation as he chuckled, and Harry, pleased that Louis had laughed, grinned.  Louis was simply thankful that everyone seemed to be feeling all right.  Zayn and Liam would need some persuading, however, before they calmed down.  

“You all did really well,” he said happily, feeling immensely pleased with the others.  

 “You did brilliantly too, Louis,” Liam said genuinely, smiling kindly down at his mate.  Louis shook his head, shrugging half-heartedly.  “Not really, but thanks anyway,” he said relaxedly, and Liam and Harry exchanged helpless glances, Harry’s fingers tightening on Louis’s, his skin so warm and soft.  Louis smiled gently.  He enjoyed the company of his best friend far too much to ignore.  They had sparked from the beginning, connecting in ways the other lads hadn’t, and Louis was appreciative.  How many people could say they had a friend like Harry?   _Well,_ Louis thought proudly, grinning as his fingers brushed Harry’s.   _He was one of them._

⤞✧⤝

"Hi, boys," Simon greeted them, looking ominously somber as the line of interlocking lads shuffled slowly and awkwardly onto the patio, arms twisting and shoulders throbbing as they yanked and pulled each other in Simon's direction.  

"H-Hi," Louis and Niall managed to quake, but Harry, Liam, and Zayn apparently did not trust themselves with the task of opening their mouths.  A strange hiccup seemed to resonate in Harry's throat, and his jaw began to tremble silently as he gazed at Simon, knowing that, in a few moments, their lives would change forever.  

Either he and the lads would move on, accomplish amazing things, have the times of their lives, and leave behind the lives they had been living, or he would go home, back to Holmes Chapel, and live the nightmare he had been struggling to escape for eight long years.  It could  _not_ happen.  It could not... Yet, if it  _did..._  He had come so, so far.  Would he have achieved so much only to have it torn from his hands like taking sweets from an infant?  

"Do you understand why I did this in the first place?" Simon asked, his hand splitting meaningfully through the air as he spoke seriously to the lot of them, and a couple of them nodded continuously as he spoke, absorbing every words as if it were oxygen.  "Because I think once we'd gotten through to the Bootcamp stage, there were weaknesses, which is why we made the decision about all of you individually." he explained, and Harry's green eyes narrowed in apprehension as he focused determinedly on the man who held their fate.

  _Individually._ Harry was not an individual anymore.  He had four amazing,  _incredible_ lads along side him now, and as Louis's smooth fingers brushed his shoulders comfortingly, he was reminded of that with full force.  

"To a point you came in at a disadvantage because you didn't have the time the other groups had," Simon continued, and Harry's forehead creased with frustration as he attempted to deduce the meaning behind his words.  Did this mean Simon was sympathetic?  That he would go easy on them?  ""On the more positive note," Simon began, and Harry's heart jumped, his face tautening with growing excitement as he listened to each and every sound, every syllable.  "When it worked, it  _worked._ Lads, my head is saying that it's a risk, and my heart is saying that you deserve a shot, and that's why it's been difficult."  The sound of Louis's breath falling shakily through the air rang through Harry's ears as Simon spoke, and his own breathing began to attain a quicker, shakier note as his heart thudded wildly against his ribcage, threatening to break free of his chest.  

Louis's smooth, warm hand cupped around his shoulder, gently squeezing the tendons, and harry relaxed slightly beneath his touch as he awaited Simon's decision.   _God, oh God...._ He thought, his teeth clashing silently together behind his lips.

"So, I've made a decision." Simon said dramatically, and harry resisted the urge to emit a loud whine.  He cupped his left hand over his jaw, his fingers massaging the skin energetically as the nerves tumbled in his stomach, and his right hand tightened around Niall's waist, brushing Louis's side as it did so.  "Guys..." Simon began once more, and Harry felt his breathing halt suddenly.  No air passed through his dry lips as he stared intently at Simon, knowing that, in less than a few seconds, they were about to hear the decision that would change their lives forever.  

 _Please, oh God, please..._ He begged silently, the tension freezing like a block of cement in his chest, and his heart sputtered and beat more ferociously than ever as Simon opened his lips to speak the final words....  

"I've gone with my heart.  You're through." Simon said monotonously.  And, with that, the lads positively  _erupted_ with celebration.  

"Yes!" Harry and Niall hollered, enormously painful grin cracking across their cheeks, and they threw their arms around each other.  _These boys...They helped me get to this point... They're helping me fulfil my dreams..._  Harry thought, wrapping his arms tightly around the waists of Niall and Liam, his forehead mashing into Louis's, his curls tangling with his feathery, caramel-coloured hair.   _Oh God...Simon..._  Harry thought suddenly, his green eyes widening, and he tore himself from the group to dash across the patio and fling his arms around Simon's neck, hugging in tightly in gratitude.  

"You!  Thank you!  God, thank you," Harry mumbled against the fabric of Simon's tee-shirt, and Simon chuckled as he patted him on the back, grunting as Niall suddenly collided into his chest for an Irish hug.  Harry hurried detached himself from Simon and Nialler to tackle the others once more in a massive bear hug.  “Oh God,” Harry breathed, and to his embarrassment, he realized that hysterical sobs were rising slowly in his throat.  He flung an arm over his face, deep, rattly breaths shaking his chest, and moisture pricked behind his eyes.  He was so, so relieved; there was absolutely no way to describe just how ecstatic he was that they were moving on, and just how overwhelming the realization was that they could have been sent home in the blink of an eye so easily.  By how much had they escaped that fate?  It was a scary feeling, but it was unbelievably undermined by the sheer disbelief and joy rushing through his system.  

“Why are you crying, Harry, you’re supposed to be happy!” A high, sweet voice chorused, and Harry felt Louis’s strong hand on his shoulder again as he glanced up to roll his eyes half-heartedly at the Doncaster lad.  

“Shut it, you,” he smiled tearfully, and without hesitation, he threw his arms around Louis’s neck, squeezing him into a grateful, enthusiastic hug.  

“Ouch, don’t kill me, boy!” Louis exclaimed, clearly amused, but with a smile, his own arms tightened around Harry’s middle, holding him close to his chest.  

“Hey,” Niall whined, looking just as delighted as the others, and Harry grinned before unraveling one of his arms from Louis’s neck and tackling him into a half hug, banging Niall’s and Lou’s heads together.  

“We’re going to live shows!” Liam exclaimed, utter shock filling his face as he grabbed Harry’s shoulder, tugging him away from the other two and looking into his face.  

“Live shows!” Harry squeaked, feeling quite girly and dramatic at the moment, but not giving a damn.  He grabbed Liam’s arms as they bounced on their toes together, grinning excitedly with their happiness, and the cameramen chuckled from behind their equipment as they filmed the group. 

"Where is your dignity?" one of them chuckled as he trained the lens to capture a particularly ridiculous grin stretching across Niall's face.  

"Out the damn window!" Louis hollered as he buried his face simultaneously into the chests of Harry and Zayn.  Zayn emitted a strange, deafening laugh and wrapped his arm around Louis's neck, tucking him into a tight hug.  

"I'm going on," Liam was breathing, an expression of complete and utter shock in his honey-coloured eyes.  "We're moving on!  God, I don't believe it..."  

"Believe it, man, we're going to London!" Zayn grinned hooting with celebration as he rubbed his knuckles through Liam's hair.  

"Okay, boys, we really need to get you off the set for interviews," one of the producers coughed uncomfortably, shifting slightly on one foot as the weight of the massive camera dug into his shoulder.  

"Off you go, now.  Oi, don't phone anyone except your families.  We don't word to get out." Simon called after them as the five boys bounced excitedly across the patio, leaping over each other's shoulders and grinning as if each and everyone them had the whole world in the palms of their hands.  

 _And the dream continues,_ Harry thought with a smile.

 

⤞✧⤝


	11. Lately

⤞✧⤝

 

"We're here."

_Mm.  Sleep._

"Oi.  Mr. Tomlinson?"

_So tired..._

"Louis?"

A sharp, gravelly voice cut through the thick, impenetrable fog clouding Louis's mind, and his dry, pinched eyes slowly creaked open.  He squinted against the stark, smoky light seeming to filter through the windows of the familiar van.  

"Wha..." He mumbled not-so-attractively, blinking blearily at his surroundings, a small frown creasing his forehead as he leaned forward to peer through the glass looming before him.  They were parked silently, stilly outside what looked like an enormous, desolate condo.  The structure seemed to consist mostly of small porches, patios, balconies, and faded, creamy arches and pillars of plaster.  Lonely patches of tall, thick wheat swayed beside the house, brushing the white panels of wood and tossing themselves back and forth in the wind.  "Is..." Louis cleared his throat, coughing slightly.  "Is this the house?"

"Sure is," his escort, a middle-aged man named Mitchell, smiled tiredly, hiding a massive yawn behind his palm as he opened the door of the black SUV and hopped carefully down onto the dirt lot.  He had fetched Louis from the London international aeroport mere minutes before, but Louis had been so completely exhausted by the flight and by the strenuous activities and goodbyes of his sisters he had experienced earlier that he had slipped into unconsciousness the moment his neck had lulled back against the headrest of the van.

"Wow," Louis murmured quietly, a small smile slowly curling the corners of his mouth.  He ejected his seatbelt and slid out of the van, his feet hitting the ground with a thud and sending a minuscule cloud of dust enveloping his brand new Toms.  He cringed slightly, noting to himself that he would need to run them through a delicate cycle later on, and walked round the van to help Mitchell with his many bags.  

He had grinned sheepishly with embarrassment when the older man had caught sight of the enormous load of luggage surrounding Lou beside the baggage claim of the aeroport, blinking slightly in surprise.  Ordinarily, it would have been expected that the female contestants pack so heavily (and indeed, they had) but Louis? He had  _priorities._ He had packed one enormous suitcase dedicated to his clothing, a duffel bag containing his towel, robe, and toiletries, a second duffel bag carrying his bedding, pillows, and night light, and a smaller, carry-on suitcase devoted exclusively to the task of transporting his shoes; most of which were obviously Toms.  Louis had gone on a hearty shopping spree once he had returned from Marbella, and he had expanded his closet to include a set of new, fitted tee-shirts, a number of pairs of tough, colourful chinos, quite a few scarves, and of course, four new pairs of his favourite espadrilles.  

 _"Look, mum,"_ He had gushed excitedly to Jay once he had arrived home, laiden with shopping bags.   _"Now, not only do I have twill, houndstooth, corduroy, canvas, denim, stripes, and camouflage, but also Holdens, burlaps, and two pairs of the newly introduced Botas!"_ he had beamed, smiling like a child on Christmas day as he proudly displayed his new purchases.

 _"Oh, Louis,"_ Jay had laughed, rolling her eyes.   _"What are we going to do with you?"_

 _"Um, admire my new shoes, duh,_ " Louis had retorted with a strange look, speaking as if this were the most obvious thing on the planet.  

"All right, if we get started now, we may be able to get all this inside by nightfall," Mitchell grinned as he wrapped his arms firmly around the carry-on containing Louis's babies and started for the large patio sitting before the front door of the house.  

"Oh, very funny," Louis smiled, strolling towards the back of the van and grunting as he heaved his enormous suitcase, gasping slightly as gravity kicked in and the luggage came tumbling down onto his foot.  Cursing heartily under his breath, he wrapped his knuckles and began dragging it roughly through the dirt to the porch.  "We're the first ones here?" he asked in confusion as he looked around for a sign of life, yet there was none to be seen.  

"Looks like it.  The others should be arriving any minute-" Mitchell began, but he cut himself short as the humming of a second vehicle bit the quiet.  Louis looked round to see a small car pull into the lot beside the black SUV, and a moment later, two figures, one tiny and pale and one large and curvy, stepped onto the ground.  

"Nialler!" Louis grinned, a smile stretching his cheeks as he caught sight of the blonde Irish lad and waved wildly overhead.  

"Louis!" Niall screeched eagerly, and Louis chuckled as he came barreling up the steps of the porch and collided into Louis's side, hugging him tightly and grinning into his chest.  

"Blimey, don't kill me," Louis exclaimed with a laugh, mussing Niall's shaggy, blonde hair playfully.  

"I missed everyone," Niall whimpered as Mary Byrne came walking happily up the front steps, a large, red handbag hanging from the crook of her arm.  

"Me too, buddy," Louis grinned, sighing happily as he realised that, in a few moments, he would be reunited with his band- with Niall, with Liam, with Zayn, and with  _Harry._ God, it had been a long, long month back in Doncaster, filled with seemingly endless days of ticking down marks on a calendar and feverishly typing away on his laptop as he messaged the others.  His mother had been extremely busy all the while, arguing with her husband over the phone, arguing with her attorney, arguing with Louis himself when he complained about watching the twins for a couple of weeks while Lottie and Fizz were attending summer camp...

Needless to say, he was thrilled to have left behind his normal, boring life in Doncaster once more and return to his growing success as a performer with his four best friends.  

"Liam!" Niall bellowed at the top of his lungs, his mouth significantly close to Louis's ear, and Louis yelped with mingled alarm and reproach as he winced, clamping his hand over his ear.  

"Niall, what the-"  

"Liam, I missed you!" Niall hollered as he tore himself roughly from Louis's side and, ducking his head, began charging in the direction of the lot as quickly as he could towards a very white-faced, startled looking Liam Payne.  He gasped, pained, as Niall's head delved squarely into his stomach, causing him to double over.  

"Niall!  Don't kill him either!" Louis shrieked, his arms flailing spastically about his head as he scampered down the steps of the porch and scuttled eagerly to the pair of lads.  

"Agreed," Liam gasped, cheeks inflating as he clutched his middle while Niall threw his arms around his neck, smiling as if he had just been handed the heavens.  "Hey, Lou," Liam added, smiling weakly, and Louis grinned, clapping Liam on the back in a friendly greeting.  

"Is this everything, Mr. Payne?" Liam's escort called to him from the car Liam had just vacated, his arms full with two large duffel bags.  Louis blushed on the spot as his eyes darted back and forth between Liam's things and his own comparatively monstrous set of luggage.  

"Can we go inside?" Niall asked keenly as he stepped away from Liam, clasping his arms behind his back and gazing pleasedly around the area.  

Louis himself began to more thoroughly inspect his surroundings.  It seemed as if the house was the only building to be seen for miles; blank, dry country-side stretched from every angle.  A dense, shady thicket of woods fringed a hilltop crowning the small, shallow valley a few hundred yards from the house.  Overall, the land held a secluded, peaceful aura, and, after living in the busy, cramped city for so long, Louis had a feeling that he would absolutely  _love_ it.  

"Not quite yet, we're waiting for the other contestants and for the producers," Niall and Mary's escort chirped cheerfully from one of the cars, rocking back and forth on his heels as he shunted his hands into his pockets.  Louis groaned loudly and oh-so-attractively, flinging his arms dramatically through the air and over Liam.  

"Hey, Lou," Liam complained, squirming as Louis let his weight fall clumsily against the Wolverhampton lad, and Niall grinned.  Louis leaped to his feet, however, as a fourth car pulled slowly into the lot, its tires sending clouds of dirt and dust flying about the ground.  

"Harry?" Louis asked eagerly, but he fell back, disappointed as Rebecca Creighton, Esther Campbell, and Cher Lloyd tumbled out of the car, wincing slightly in their high heels and tight shorts.  

"This is quite fantastic," Cher Lloyd exclaimed with wonder as she gazed open-mouthed up at the large building looming before her.  

"Isn't it?" Mary smiled, heaving her enormous suitcase up the front steps and onto the porch.  

"I'm taking off, Louis.  All your bags are by the steps, all right?" Mitchell called to him, cupping his hands round his lips as he began to climb into the SUV.  

"Alrighty!  Thank you, Mitchell!" Louis replied happily as Mitchell waved casually and the van disappeared around the corner.  

One by one, the other cars began to arrive, each coming a bit more quickly than the last, each returning another hopeful to the headquarters of their careers.  Ten minutes later, Louis was perched grumpily atop the railing of the porch, shoulders slumped and arms crossed as he waited impatiently for his other two best friends to join the party.  Belle Amie and F.Y.D. had arrived, as well as the other solo contestants.  So, where was the rest of his group?  He huffed angrily to himself, his lower lip jutting forward in a severe pout as he aimlessly watched Niall fooling around on the front steps.  He had gathered a pile of small pebbles and was struggling with great difficulty to construct them into a small mound.  

"Stop it," Niall hissed quietly to one of the pebbles as it tumbled clumsily from the tip of the pile, and Louis rolled his eyes.  He sighed heavily as the gaggle of girls chatted happily from the porch, and rolled his eyes once more as he noticed the fair amount of hip-popping and hair-twirling going on.  Finally, Liam's voice caught his ear as it sounded from around the corner of the lot.  

"Oh, hey, Harry."  

Louis's head shot up quickly, and he rubbed his neck, pausing to wince before he flung himself spasmodically from the railing and went whizzing down the drive, limbs flying and hair whipping behind his head as he dashed round the corner.  

"Harry!" he yelped eagerly as he caught sight of the mop of lush curls sitting atop the head of the young, lanky Cheshire lad.

"Hey, Boo!" Harry grinned, opening his arms just in time to catch Louis in his grasp, and he gasped, coughing slightly as Louis dove towards him, driving him into the side of the car he had just exited.  "God, don't kill me," he choked, and Louis grinned, his lips smiling against the soft, familiar fabric of his tee-shirt.  

"Ha!  Eat your words, Tommo!" Niall chanted, jabbing a pale finger in Louis's direction, and Liam laughed.  

"Shut up, Harry is the exception!" Louis grumbled indignantly, and Harry smirked arrogantly.  

"I'm special," he grinned, triumphant, and Niall rolled his eyes.  

"So, because you're just  _Harry,_ you earn the right to be killed?  Sounds good to me." He chuckled. Louis gasped as he heard the mocking voice of the Irish lad, and he jerked bolt upright to glare in his direction.  

"Oh, very funny, leprechaun," he tittered, and Niall beamed, clearly very pleased with himself.  

"I know I am!" he chirped, bouncing happily on his toes as he folded his arms behind his back.  

"You know you're what?" a familiar, deeper voice cut through the cool afternoon air, and the entire group spun round in time to see an exceedingly disheveled Zayn climb tiredly out of the back of a Subaru.  

"Zayn!" Niall and Louis squeaked, grinning as they dashed towards the dark lad and tackled him in a single, massive bear hug.  

"Don't kill me!" Zayn complained as he wriggled in their grasp.  

"I'm starting to think that the universe is trying to send us a message," Liam tapped his chin thoughtfully as Zayn spoke, and Harry grinned as he skittered to Zayn's side to rumple his hair.  

"Oi!" Zayn hollered as he maneuvered swiftly out of harm's way, and Harry snickered.  

"It's about time!" Louis shouted in a falsely furious growl, and Zayn simpered guiltily.  

"I love you?" he offered feebly, and Louis laughed, reaching forward to muss Zayn's hair himself.  

"God, I can't get a break today," Zayn snarled to himself, teeth clenched as he scowled darkly around at the lot of them and attempted to smooth his hair backwards on his head.  

"Is everyone here?  Are all the contestants present?" A crisp, authoritative voice accompanied the buzz of the people humming among the lot, and Louis looked round to see a man carrying a clipboard and a headset cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted to the others.  He suddenly noticed the enormous van that had pulled into the lot behind him, emitting several men and women, all loaded with heavy, expensive looking filming equipment.  It seemed that the producers had arrived.  

"Listen up!" the man carrying the clipboard was bellowing as he hopped briskly onto the porch to holler to the swarm of people.  "I'm going to call out names, and I want you to reply, all right?  If I don't get your name, I'll mark you as absent, and there will be  _no show for you._   Understood?"  

"Understood!" Louis sang brightly, smiling contentedly to himself as he swayed on the spot.  

"Well, all right, then..." the producer muttered, shooting Louis a strange glance, and Louis grinned while Harry and Zayn tittered to themselves.  "John Adeleye!"  

"Right here," John Adeleye's crisp, robotic voice sounded from one of the several cars.  

"Mary Byrne!  Matthew Cardle, Treyc Cohen..."  After a long and certainly confusing round of role call in which Louis thought it might be amusing to befuddle the producer with a bout of high-pitched whistling whilst he attempted to gather the names of the contestants, the group was finally allowed to gather their luggage and enter the house.  

"And filming in five, four, three, two..." The producer hollered, his glare never leaving the back of Louis's head, and he fell silent as the cameras began rolling and one of the cameramen opened the front door of the large house.  

"Wow!" a loud, simultaneous murmur echoed from the doorway as the contestants began to shuffle through the door.  

"Holy cheese bisquits!" Louis hollered, flinging his hands directly into the air and letting his mouth fall dramatically open as he dove spasmodically through the doorway, knocking over at least three or four other people as he did so.  Niall and Harry emitted hysterical chuckles as Lou pretended to feint with the shock of seeing the house, and he collapsed heavily against Liam's chest.  

"Do you mind, Lou?" Liam rolled his eyes, snickering as he pushed Louis roughly to his feet.  

The house, in all actuality, was quite nice. It was a classic London mansion, in any case- featuring ornately crafted woodwork, wide, gleaming windows, and, of course, a host of unnecessary rooms no one would ever dream of needing to occupy in a lifetime.  

 _Why on earth would anyone ever need a towel room?_ Louis wondered vaguely as he stuck his head inside a small room piled with hampers and cupboards bursting with fluffy white linens.  

"This house has three kitchens." A demented, monotonous Irish voice startled him, and he yanked himself backwards and into the hallway to see a very strange, demonic-looking Nialler hovering vaguely before him, a dazed, unfeeling expression on his face.  

"What?" Louis mumbled in confusion as his gaze scanned Niall's blank, wide blue eyes.  

"This house...Three kitchens...Lou," he whispered, blinking quickly and planting his palms firmly on Louis's shoulders.  "I've reached the promise land."   Louis grinned, rolling his eyes and poking Niall playfully in the gut before bounding down the hallway and towards the narrow, tall staircase swiveling up towards the second floor.  

"Someone get that boy a sedative," he thought he heard the producer mutter with a growl as Louis hopped eagerly up the steps three at a time, the heels of his espadrilles scuffing loudly against the carpet and sending waves of friction heating his ankles.  

Louis smirked.  Maybe his hyper-activity would have been driven by his sheer excitement any other day, but he had good intentions as he raced down the hallway, pausing abruptly for a fraction of a second to glance at the signs taped to each door before taking off once more.  He had full intent of getting to the band's room first and selecting the largest, most accommodating, most comfortable spot.  Living with  _five_ other women in an admittedly small house had its drawbacks, and one of them was being forced to sit back and take the smallest, most cramped bedroom of the house.  Well, Louis wasn't settling for that arrangement any more,  _no_  sir.  He would be getting that prime spot, and no way in  _hell_ was  _anything_ going to stop- 

"Oomph!"  Louis grunted with mingled pain and surprise as something strong and slender positively slammed him into the wall, an unpleasant sort of warmth hitting his back as whatever had collided with him sent friction burning through his skin.  A delighted, mischievous snicker echoed in his ear and something lush, soft, and smelling lightly of cologne brushed quickly against his cheek before the mysterious force whizzed away.  

Louis turned just in time to see the back of Harry's grey beanie  bob down the hall and out of sight as the boy sped happily across the floor, laughing loudly and sounding far too pleased with himself.  

" _No way,"_ Louis hissed dangerously under his breath as his blue eyes narrowed, a sly smirk beginning to curl his lips as he yanked himself away from the wall and threw all his weight into the air before him, his legs working furiously as he began to dash after Harry.  "You better run, Styles!" He hollered as his arms swung at his sides, his teeth clenching while he ran.  

"Oh, now  _there's_  an idea!" Harry called sarcastically over his shoulder as he zoomed down the hall, his feet pounding dully against the carpet and his ecstatic, cheerful voice somewhat marred with breathlessness.  "It's not like I was running before!"

"Taking over for the sass master, eh?" Louis whispered to himself, his eyebrow cocking, and he increased his sped.  He grinned triumphantly as Harry slowed up ahead, and he snickered to himself, thinking that the boy had finally run out of energy.  But the next second, Harry's jade green eyes had lit with delight, and before Louis could blink, the lad had shoved open a door placed in the wall to his right and whirred easily inside, the grin stretching across his cheeks much too massively for Louis's liking.  

Well, Louis hadn't seen  _that_ coming.  

His own blue eyes widened with shock, and his lips parted as he realised dully that Harry had found the band's room.  Before he could slow himself, Louis had carried himself right past the door, and his knee caps collided sharply with the window sill sitting in the wall at the end of the hallway.  A stream of admirably colourful curses slurred loudly from his lips, and he hopped clumsily away from the window before limping as quickly as he could to the boys' new room.  

He paused for a split second to take in the surroundings of his living conditions.   The room was problematically small; there was no doubt about that, but there was a strange, cosy sort of charm to the space- one that Louis was sure would vanish once the room was filled with clothes, banana peels, body odour, and the disgruntled moods of five teenage boys.  Two sets of bunk beds were pressed tightly against the creamy walls, opposite the room from each other.  A decently-sized dresser was nestled in one corner, its maple legs digging into the thick, beige carpet.  In the other corner was a large, cosybed frame and mattress, this one  _not_  bunked, and quite clearly the best area in the room and the one Louis had certainly had in mind as he had bounded up the stairs.  

A second loud, concise swear word fell from his mouth as he blinked and realised that  _Harry_  was sprawled across that wide bed, leering happily up at him like a child who had just stolen his father's credit card and could not have been more tickled about it.  

"You!" Louis roared as he stomped across the carpeted floor and towards the large mattress.  "Get your arse  _off_  my bed and onto your bunk!"  To Louis's growing frustration, Harry's grin only widened.  

"Why, dear Louis, I think you must be mistaken.  You see, this is  _my_  bed, as I was here first, so I do believe that means..." he drawled, his eyes roaming over the small, cramped bunk beds sitting against the walls before him.  "That _you_ are free to help yourself to one of those lovely, cosy, admittedly much less wonderful beds over  _there._ "  Louis's face widened and whitened with surprise for a long moment before his blue eyes blackened with grim rage and his brows bunched into a single angry line across his forehead.  

 _"Harry Edward Styles,_ " he hissed, propping his hands on his hips and shifting his weight to his right foot.  "If you do not get your skinny, sixteen-year-old, stunningly attractive bottom off that mattress in  _five_  seconds, so help me...."  

"What will you do?" Harry challenged, his eyes twinkling.  It was quite plain that he was enjoying this far more than he should.  "Snap your fingers at me, sass master?"  

" _That tears it!"_ Louis hollered, and with that, he bent his knees and sprang forward onto the bed, quite prepared to fight Harry to the death for that spot.  He straddled Harry by the waist, his knees digging into the memory foam and pinning the hem of the younger boy's shirt to the surface of the mattress as he dug his knuckles into his sides.  Harry had clearly been unprepared for Louis's sudden attack, and he was unable to offer any type of defense before Louis had him in an inescapable hold. 

 _Well, that's just too bad for him, now, isn't it?_ Louis thought with grim delight as he pressed his fingers into Harry's middle, grinning as the boy laughed and snickered against his will.  

"L-Lou!  Stop...Stop it!  I can't....No more....t-tickling...."  

"Will you surrender?" Louis growled playfully as the pads of his fingertips rumpled the fabric of Harry's shirt.  

"Never!" Harry shouted at the top of his lungs, his curls flopping about the pillow beneath his head as Louis tickled him.  

"Then let the tickling commence!" Louis roared, beaming with triumph as he tackled Harry.  

"What on earth is going on?" A sharp, crisp voice interrupted their "argument" and Louis's head spun on his shoulder as he turned to catch a glimpse of who was speaking.  Harry took advantage of the distraction as wrapped his slender fingers quickly around Louis's wrists, and in an instant, Louis found himself pinned to the floor, his head throbbing from the blow it had just taken to the carpet.  

"Ow," he groaned, his eyes fluttering slightly, and Harry giggled childishly to himself as he loomed over Louis, his dimples deepening ever further in his cheeks.  

"Oops," he chuckled, green eyes still glowing with happiness as he gazed down at the Doncaster boy.  "Sorry."  

"Damn right you are," Louis grumbled wearily, hoisting himself upward on his elbows and peering past Harry towards the doorway.  The producer stood in the frame, looking quite frustrated.  

"Oh, come on," the producer growled loudly.  "We're here for literally two minutes, and the two of you are already having sex?  Can't it wait?"  Louis's eyes widened, and he looked quickly to Harry before glancing back to the producer, waiting for him to roll his eyes and explain that he was kidding, but the man's eyebrows only rose suspiciously on his forehead as he surveyed the two boys on the floor.  Louis realised that the producer was  _serious,_ that he honestly thought that Louis and Harry were...well...

Louis's cheeks flamed with colour as Harry began to laugh, his chest vibrating against Louis's while he did so.  Louis chuckled, rolling his eyes and flicking the boy's temple with his middle finger.  Harry batted his hand away.  

"Don't worry," he said loudly to the producer with a very obvious wink towards Lou.  "We'll make sure to wait next time."

 Louis snorted, his eyes widening with suppressed mirth as he attempted to stifle his giggles, and he barely heard the producer over the pounding in his ears as he snapped, "Well, be sure to use protection.  The last thing we want on this show is an AIDS epidemic."  

That was it.  

Louis simply couldn't hold in his laughter anymore, and apparently Harry was in a similar condition, for a moment later, the room was filled with the sounds of their howling chuckles as tears of laughter trickled from their eyes.  

"What's going- Oh, of course."  Zayn's voice caught Louis's attention, and he rose his head slightly off the floor to glance at the dark boy as he stood behind the producer.  

"Zayn," he began to whine immediately as the giggles died slowly in his chest.  "Harry won't let me have the big bed."  

"But I was here first!" Harry argued, his eyes widening innocently as he glared intently at Zayn, waiting for him to support him.  

"But in my house-" Louis began.  

"It's only fair!" Harry whined childishly, his rosy lip jutting forward in a severe pout as his eyebrows furrowed in a scowl.   

"C'mon, Zayn!" Louis cried desperately. 

"I got here-" Harry started once more.  

"Quiet!" Zayn shouted, his arms flying wildly in the air, and to the Bradford boy's great surprise, the room fell silent.  " _I'll_ take the big bed," he said with a simper, strolling happily froward into the room and dumping one of his many duffel bags onto the mattress.  

" _What!"_ Harry and Louis hollered simultaneously, both with expressions of rage on their faces.  

"It's only fair, right, Harold?" Zayn smirked, mocking Harry, and the curly-haired boy gasped, looking highly affronted.  He and Louis turned to each other, eyes wide, before tipping their heads back and opening their mouths to shriek " _Liam!"_  

"Not now," A third familiar voice entered the room, and Louis and Harry turned to see Liam stumble through the door, face pained and hand clutching his stomach tenderly.  "I don't have time to deal with your issues.  I was just mauled by a very angry leprechaun because he thought I had taken his complementary aeroplane crisps from his bag."  

"With all due respect, Li, that cracker packet did look quite similar to my crisps," Niall mumbled pointedly as he hopped into the room beside Liam, his fist crammed into a small, cellophane bag, crumbling bits of potato crisps crumbling about the floor at his feet.  "Ooh, bunk beds!" he added with a chirp, his eyebrows rising with incredulous delight as he gazed around at the tiny room and the creamy, white wood of the narrow bunks.  

"See, lads, Niall's perfectly happy with sleeping on a plank," Zayn smiled sweetly, sounding like a stern parent as he unzipped his bag and began draping his blankets across the mattress.   Louis sniffed heartily, his nose wrinkling and his lips pursing in furious disapproval as he wriggled out from beneath Harry and stomped dramatically to his feet.  

"C'mon, Haz, we don't need him," he snapped bratily, wrapping his hand around Harry's arm and dragging him towards the bunk on the left side of the room from the door, his nose held loftily in the air as he did so.  "But I get the bottom," he added happily to himself.

 

⤞✧⤝

 


	12. Nightmares

⤞✧⤝

 

One week later, things had quite changed in the X House.  It had, as Rebecca and Zayn liked to say, been "broken in."  In other words, the house's previously pristine and tidy demeanor had been completely and utterly replaced by what must have been a site similar to a toxic waste dump.  

Clothes were scattered throughout the hallway, television remotes could be found in the strangest and most bizarre of places, and leftover crisp packets and chocolate bar wrappers littered the floor like birdseed.  The house had designated cleaning services, of course, but they only visited once a week, and somehow, within three hours after the first cleaning, the contestants managed to restore the house to its previously disastrous state.  

At the very height of this mess was, of course, One Direction's bedroom.  When the boys had arrived seven days earlier, the carpet had been blank and smooth, the dresser empty, the beds clean and neatly made.  Now, it was positively  _unrecognizable._

Undergarments and soiled shirts were draped across the doorknob and the wood of the bunk beds.  Half-empty orange juice cartons were nestled precariously among the empty, gaping suitcases.  The carpet was now a mere smatter of scarce beige patches, hidden beneath the mess on the floor.  The dresser?  It was no where to be found, and no one had the guts or the stupidity to attempt to uncover it in the havoc.  

While some of the lads were perfectly fine with living amongst the horror, Harry and Zayn being some of them-not to mention Louis, who seemed to be the sole cause of the mess itself- others were not so appreciative.  

Harry's head snapped upwards off his pillow and his bleary eyes widened with mingled fear and alarm as a piercing scream shot through the peaceful quiet of the early morning.  

"Whassat-" A very tired, very groggy Niall mumbled as he sat up in the bunk bed across from Harry, peering up at him.  

"Mm?" Harry grumbled, still looking grumpily around for the source of the noise.  He did not have long to look however; for another shriek sounded through the air right beside Harry's bunk, and he shifted slightly on the mattress to see Liam standing among a frighteningly massive heap of clothing, his shoulders hunched and one leg dangling in the air as he cringed.  

"Liam," Zayn groaned loudly from his place on the ground, rolling over and sending a second pile of clothes tumbling slowly to the ground.  At first, Harry had been quite upset with Zayn for taking what had seemed to be the best spot in the room, but now, he was quite thankful he had chosen a top bunk.  At least up here, he could escape the disaster waiting to smother him below.  "What are you on about?" Zayn moaned again, flinging a dark arm lazily over his eyes as the gentle grey morning light peered through the blind and settled on his face.  

 _"Something cold just touched my foot,"_ Liam hissed, his voice notching with disgust and horror.  

"You probably just stepped on an ice cube or summit," Niall yawned, rolling his eyes and scooting noisily back beneath the blankets of his bed, clearly ready for another hour of sleep.  

"Would an ice cube be moving?" Liam snapped, his face contorting with anxiety.  Zayn simply shrugged.  

"Would be if you slipped on it." he mumbled.  

"That's it!" Liam whisper-yelled, careful not to rouse any of the other contestants.  "We are going to clean up this room, and we're going to clean it up  _today._ "

"Woah, woah, woah!" another voice added the jumble, a croaky, groggy, smooth voice, higher than the others.  Louis must have finally woken.  "I heard the words 'We' and 'Clean.'   _Please_  tell me I was having a nightmare."  Harry snickered, digging his toes into the mattress and pushing himself over the edge of the bunk bed.  He allowed his torso to swing down over the wood, his knotted curls hanging beneath his head as he grinned at the sleepy form of Louis below.  

"Nope.  Daddy Direction is taking control."  Liam had earned himself the nickname a few days ago when he had caught Niall attempting to smuggle a beer into the bathroom, and after he had shouted him down for a good half hour and sent him straight to the boys' room to "think about what he had done," Matt Cardle had made the reference that he might as well adopt the other four lads in the band and call it good.  Louis, expecting Liam to absolutely loath the name, had been disappointed when he had called him "Daddy Direction" and Liam had actually seemed smug _._

 _"Someone's got to whip you lot into shape,"_  Liam had shrugged, grinning proudly as he had untucked the tag of Niall's shirt as the Irish lad had passed.  

"No," Louis now whined, groaning unattractively as he snatched the hem of his comforter into his palms and flung the blankets over his head.  

"Yes!  Look at this place!  It looks like a hurricane's been through.  There are at least eight different beer bottles laying around here, Lou," Liam began, and all other eyes flickered mischievously to Niall, who suddenly looked quite nervous.  "Harry, your underwear's been hanging from the blinds for at least four days now, and for crying out loud, does anyone know what happened to the dresser?" Liam asked, his arms flying into the air as he gaped around at the lot of them.  

"Who cares?" Louis yawned.  "We don't need a dresser.  We've got a floor."  

"I swear to God," Liam sighed, shaking his head and scuttling away from the massive heap of clothes before clambering back into his bed.  "It's settled.  We're cleaning this mess today, before it  _eats_  one of us."  Harry giggled, rolling his eyes and swinging his legs over the side of his bed to slide down the ladder.  

"C'mon, Li, we should be rehearsing.  We're performoing for the first time tomorrow, and you're going to make us  _clean_ _?_ " Zayn asked.  

"Why yes, yes I am," Liam smiled happily.  "Besides, rehearsals don't begin until noon.  We'll have plenty of time to tify up before then," he added before collapsing onto his mattress and going out like a light, his gentle, quite snores beginning to fill the air almost immediately.  

"Haz," Harry heard Louis's voice whisper, and, grinning, he turned to see his tanned, slender hand beckoning him towards his mattress.  

"What's up?" he replied quietly, diving for the bed and causing Louis to swear with pain.  

"Ouch, bony!  Watch it," he complained with a smile, and Harry snickered, pleased with himself.  "Think we can get out of the house before Daddy goes on the cleaning rampage?" Louis breathed, cupping a hand around his lips to assure that no one but Harry would hear him.

 "I wish," Harry sighed with a grin.  "But if we did, Liam would break one of our necks, and that wouldn't be too fun to deal with on stage tomorrow night, now would it?"  Louis laughed, swatting Harry away and giving his bum a playful smack before sitting up in bed and stretching his arms.

Smirking, Harry rose to his feet.  He watched as Louis yawned, his lips smacking softly together, and rubbed his eyes like a small child, his knuckles pressing into his cheekbones.  Harry smiled; with his rumpled, disheveled bed-head and bleary blue eyes, he could have been a twelve year old.  He knew, however, that in a few hours, when he had showered and tugged a tight, sheer tee-shirt across his chest, he would regain his appearance of maturity.  

It was strange, he thought, how dynamic a person could be.  He had never met someone as strange yet as wonderful as Louis was.  Chuckling tom himself while Louis sighed sleepily, he turned to let his eyes wander the room for a sign of a shirt that had not yet begun to disintegrate among the mess.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

"I'm dying.  Someone save me, I'm dying!" the dramatic screech of Zayn echoed about the tiny room, and Louis turned to see him clamp a hand over his nose and mouth, his brown eyes quite literally watering.  

"What?  Did you find another milk carton?" Niall asked interestedly as his blonde head popped up from behind a wall of rubbish.  

"No, worse," Zayn mumbled, his voice sounded restricted and pinched as he grabbed his nostrils between his thumb and forefinger.  "What on earth  _is_ that?"  Louis wandered over curiously, lifting his knees to his chest as he tried to step over the heaps of clothes and trash scattered across the floor.  

"Hm," he pondered as he frowned down at the alien object of Zayn's terror.  "Maybe that's what happens  _after_ milk...you know, stops being milk."

"I don't think so," Niall disagreed, and Louis turned to see that the Irish boy had managed to crawl his way over to the two of them.  "I don't think it would have that colour.  I'm thinking it's an omelet.  Someone must have forgotten to eat it."  

"I'm thinking it's gonna start eating itself before long," Louis mused with a grin.  

"I'm thinking I'm out of here," Zayn muttered, eying the other two with apprehension before diving for the door.  "Ah," he sighed with relief as he stumbled into the hallway. "Sweet, clean, healthy air."  He inhaled dramatically, sighing with happiness as one of the other contestants strolled past with a heaping garbage sack clutched in their hand.

"It's not that bad," Louis rolled his eyes.  "My bedroom is worse."  

Louis could have sworn, by the looks that he got, that he had just grown devil horns.  Niall's eyes were wide with disbelief, his mouth gaping, while Zayn seemed to be seriously contemplating calling a S.W.A.T. team.  

"You're trying to tell me," he choked, horror in his voice.  "That  _your_ bedroom is messier than  _this?_ " He gestured timidly towards the boys' room; at the towers of dirty dishes, at the stained pants and soiled shirts, at the week-old juice cartons... Louis nodded sheepishly, grinning to himself, quite pleased that he had managed to take them aback.

"Wow," Niall breathed, gazing up at Louis as if he were a raging tornado, and Louis offered him a small, gracious little bow.  Zayn simply blinked, slowly closing his open mouth and starting down the hall, mumbling under his breath about scheduling an appointment for a tetanus vaccine.  

"How," Niall mumbled, "Have you not yet  _mutated?_ "  

"Why?" Louis asked curiously, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking happily back on his heels as he surveyed the chaos before him.  "What does your room look like?"  

"It's messy," Niall said cautiously, "But not like this.  This doesn't even qualify as  _messy._ This is like.... Like..."  

"A nightmare?  Godzilla?  An apolocalypse?" A low, gravely voice sounded from behind Louis's shoulder, and he turned to see Harry smiling with cheeky amusement as he eyed the room.  "The mother of all messes?" he added, the dimples in his cheeks deepening, creating small, shadowy hollows among the peach.  

"Well, frankly, Harold, I am offended.  How dare you compare the state of our room to something so  _tame._ " Louis replied pompously, snapping his fingers and sticking his nose highly in the air.  Harry snickered, rolling his eyes as his grin widened.  

"No wonder Liam's angry," he mused as he stepped carefully into the room.  "He's in the bathroom cleaning that cut."  

"He got cut?" Niall asked, suddenly quite wary.  "On what?"  

"Who knows?" Harry shrugged.  "In any case, we really should tidy up a bit.  If Liam doesn't kill us, the staff definitely will."  Louis sighed heavily, his face slackening with sadness.  

"Well...I suppose it would be a tad bit difficult to perform Coldplay tomorrow night without our heads." Louis conceeded.  Harry smiled slightly, but at Louis's words, his heart began to jump nervously.  

Up until then, he had not felt too terribly nervous about the lads' first staging, but as he dwelled on the prospect of performing before billions of people on live, international television and the possibility of being sent home, anxiety began to very slowly nestle in the pit of his stomach.  

That anxiety grew gradually as they worked their way through rehearsals and as the afternoon progressed, and as he slid casually into his unofficially designated dining chair at the round kitchen table, his abdomen clenched uncomfortably at the sight of the take-out trays sitting upon the glossy wood.  Liam clapped a hand cheerfully on his shoulder before slouching relaxedly into the chair beside his.  Niall, of course, seemed completely-nerve free as his nose twitched slightly and a grin cracked across his lips, and he eagerly grabbed a serving spoon to begin filling his plate.

"Evening, boys," one of the motherly chefs, Zoe, greeted the three of them before perching happily upon the chair on Harry's right, the chair usually reserved for Louis.  Harry simply smiled as Zoe began plucking open the takeout boxes, as he worried that if he were to open his mouth, he would only worsen the nervous writhing in his stomach.  Zayn and Louis scuttled into the kitchen, snickering heartily, and Zayn swung his legs over the chair beside Zoe's.  Louis's eyes flickered momentarily between Zoe and the wood of his  _own_ chair before shrugging slightly and climbing into the chair beside Zayn's.  

"Blimey, I'm starving," he grinned as he inhaled the aroma of what was most certainly Japanese food.  

"Fine, I'll feed you," Zayn chuckled, and Louis rolled his eyes.  

"Sorry, Zayn, that's Harry's job!" he grinned brightly, and, despite himself, Harry smirked, winking at Louis.  

"Pretty please?" Zayn pretended to pout.  

"Fine," Louis smiled, pretending to relent with reluctant, and Zayn grinned as he snatched a chopstick up into his dark palm and viciously jabbed the wood into what looked like a piece of chicken.  

"Here comes the plane," He smirked, and Louis laughed as he leant back in his chair, opening his mouth wide to catch the chicken.  Zayn fling the chopstick through the air, sending the meat flying towards Lou before it slapped him lightly on the cheek.  

"Missed!" Louis grinned, sticking his tongue out childishly.  

"Hey, this isn't over yet!" Zayn declared, nabbing a second piece of chicken before attempted to fling it into Louis’s mouth once more. 

“Hah!” Louis chuckled as the chicken tumbled into his lap. 

“Damn,” Zayn cussed to himself, and Louis's eyes twinkled.

 _No.  No,_ Harry thought, his eyes narrowing as his teeth clenched behind his pursed lips.  That smile...The grin dawning Louis's face...

That was a look only  _Harry_ could inspire, and Harry alone.  

The fact that Zayn was causing it to appear on his mouth now was just....It was  _unacceptable._ It couldn't happen.   _No._

A low, inaudible growl began to rumble slowly in his chest as his anger grew.  He watched as Louis laughed brightly, Zayn snickering to himself while he attempted to slip another piece of chicken through Louis's pink lips.  

“Oi,” Harry said suddenly, as if his mouth had suddenly acquired a mind of its own.  “I’m getting jealous over here.”  

The six of them blinked slowly; even Harry was astonished by what he had said. 

Louis and Zoe were the first to laugh, rolling their eyes and winking cheekily at Harry, as if sharing some sort of private joke.  Zayn emitted a late chuckle as well, his brown eyes rising to meet Harry’s, and he grinned, expecting Harry to smile back.  

Harry simply stared stonily back, his jaw set, his eyebrows rising up across his forehead as he glared at him.  

Zayn seemed to receive the message, and he nodded politely towards the Cheshire lad before placing his feet solidly on the tile and pushing his chair backwards, a safe distance away from Louis.  

Harry smiled slightly, shooting Zayn an apologetic glance before meeting Louis’s gaze.  Louis’s blue eyes were twinkling, and a wide smile spread across his lips as he looked at Harry.  Harry tittered to himself, offering Louis a playful wink before sliding a piece of chicken onto a fork and expertly popping it between Louis’s lips.  From the corner of his eye, he could see Zayn giggling heartily to himself all the while.    

 

⤞✧⤝

 

“One direction!  You’ve got mail!” A cross, exhausted voice sounded from the common room, and Louis jumped slightly in his bunk where he had been huddling for the past half hour.  

A vague, distant round of thunder had begun to rumble somewhere far off in Eastern London, and a smattering of rain had made itself audible against the roof.  Louis didn’t mind rainstorms, in all honesty, but often times, they did not simply  _stop_ at rain…

“M’Coming!” he replied with a holler, sliding his feet into his slippers and padding quietly down the hallway, waving goofily to Zayn and cheekily smacking Harry’s bum as the two of them passed. 

“Just  _once,_ I’d let to get a letter…” John Adelay was hissing to himself as he nodded in the direction of the packages sitting in the entry way, and Louis shot him a sympathetic smile before diving for the mail.

“Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Liam Payne, Niall Horan….” Louis mumbled to himself, glancing over the addresses of each envelope.  “Ooh! What’s this?” he mumbled happily to himself as he came across a box labeled “Louis Tomlinson,” the I’s darted with small hearts.  He frowned slightly; maybe his sisters had sent the package?  Yet, there was no return address. 

 _Wait…_  

Realisation dawned on him as he tore the tape off of the box and ripped open the cardboard flaps.  

_If this package contained any more ca—_

“Bloody hell!” he swore loudly, his eyes widening as they settled on the bundles upon bundles of orange vegetables tucked neatly inside the box.  

More carrots?   _More_  carrots?

Louis had received at a dozen deliveries of the things in the past week, and he was beginning to grow sick of it. He supposed he deserved what he was getting, however; in the lads’ last video diary, he had made what he thought to be a very clever joke about liking girls who eat…yes,  _carrots._

 _Not so funny now,_ he thought dimly, nudging aside the box with his slippered toe and turning to march back upstairs.  As he stepped into the lads’ room, grinning briefly at the other four in greeting, he dimly realised that the rain overhead had grown heavier and louder, and the tremors of thunder echoing about the air seemed closer, somehow…

Swallowing, he stepped around a pile of soiled blouses and dove for his laptop.  He knew it was late, but he needed to check, to be sure…

_Crack._

An enormous rumble of thunder shook the foundation of the large, white house, sending Louis jumping upon the carpeted floor as he examined the screen of a small laptop.  He swallowed nervously, his green eyes flitting from space to space in the lads’ small room.  Taking a deep, relaxing breath, he shook his head slightly and let his mind drift back towards the screen.

"Louis, put down the laptop, it's time for bed." Liam interrupted his thoughts.

"Okay...Just a second..." Louis mumbled vaguely, sounding incredibly distracted as his jade green eyes locked on the luminescent screen glowing through the darkness.  

"What could you possibly be doing online at one in the morning?" Liam asked as he wriggled beneath his comforter, the hems of the fabric gripped tightly in his fingers.  

"Just weather stuff," Louis answered in the same monotonous tone, his mouth hanging stupidly open.  Harry rolled his eyes, laughing and smiling fondly down at him as he tugged his tee-shirt over his head and draped it carefully over the side of his bunk.  

"Don't see what's so important about the weather." Zayn pointed out from his bed in the corner of the dimly lit room.  

"Just storm check and stuff," Louis mumbled, his face slacking.  

"You care more about storms than you do about me, Boobear?  Screw you." Harry said, sniffing pompously as he crossed his gangly arms over his bare chest.  At the sound of Harry's voice, Louis looked round and smiled sheepishly before turning back to the computer to scroll through the page.  

“Do you hear this thunder, mate?” Niall asked pointedly as another bout of rumbling sent the window panes buzzing, and the smattering of heavy rain on the roof increased.  “I’m pretty sure you don’t need to check a weather site to be sure that there’s a storm going on.”

"Lou, seriously, Wagner will be up soon to tell us to shut it and get to bed, and correct me if I'm mistaken, but I'm pretty sure you'd rather be told by  _me_  than him.  Am I wrong?" Liam asked firmly.  

"Yeah, Louis, I don't want a repeat of the Brazilian Hurricane, okay?  That's the third time I've woken up with jello in my socks," Zayn said, shuddering slightly at the memory of a very angry Brazilian storming into the room a few nights ago.  "Besides, we need to get some sleep.  We'll be performign for the first time in..." Zayn paused as he stretched his neck to eye the glowing lines of the alarm clock nestled upon the floor.  "Eighteen hours." 

"Just one more minute," Louis whined, his mouth hanging open stupidly as he clicked link after link, going through storm-tracking websites.  

"Who is still up?" A familiar, cross voice bellowed from down the hallway, and Zayn groaned.  

"Great, Wagner's awake," Liam sighed.  "Come on, Lou, please? He'll be in here any minute."  

"But I need to check-" Louis began, but he was cut off a small  _click_  sounded throughout the room, and a gradual hum echoed from the laptop as the charts, graphs and maps faded from the screen and into blackness.  

"Uh oh," Louis whimpered under his breath as complete, solid darkness filled the room.  

 _Shit._  

This was exactly what he had been afraid of, and the sole reason for why he had been spending so much time on the  _"Watford Weather"_ home page, searching for signs of storms and, more specifically, chances of power outage.  

 _Chances must be one hundred percent,_ Louis thought, swallowing loudly as an enormous, painful lump began to lodge in his throat.  Well, it was one hundred percent too far.  

Louis Tomlinson had many fears; the fear of aging, fear of small spaces, fear of radishes, but stronger than anything he had ever experienced was his fear of  _darkness._

At that moment, it seemed that the world was nothing  _but_  darkness, and it certainly was not boding well with Louis.  The way the pitch black seemed to emanate from every corner of the universe, seemed to press down on him, crushing him, boring into his eyes like blindness...

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Louis hissed under his breath, a nervous sweat breaking out across his skin.  

"Lou?  You okay?" Niall asked curiously, and Louis spun around, searching desperately through the night for a sign of where the voice had come from.  

It was so  _unnatural,_ the way his eyes strained and blinked, yet he could see absolutely nothing, nothing at all... It wasn't right.  He felt vulnerable, weak, hunted.  There could be a vicious, psychotic slasher creeping up behind him for all he knew, ready to run a spear through his stomach, or even one of those blasted carrots he continued to receive in the post each day.   He immediately let his arms bob upwards in front of him, flinging wildly around in the surrounding air.  

...He  _hated_  the dark.  

Strange, smoky visions burst to life behind his eyes as the blackness tricked his mind.  Panic grew quickly in his chest, rising higher and higher and overwhelming him.  He was sheerly  _terrified._

Ordinarily, he would have grabbed the flashlight he stored in the top drawer of his bedside bureau and shuffled quickly down the hallway into the twins' room to snuggle into the queen bed they shared; for Daisy and Phoebe too were also nyctophobics.  They needed Louis as much as Louis needed them, and if that meant that one of them would roll off the bed and produce a decently sized bruise on their hip, then so be it.  All Louis knew was that when darkness and solitude were combined into one setting, things did not end well.  

"Guys," he breathed, his voice quivering as he realised just how completely  _isolated_  he felt, standing there in the nothingness.  "Guys, guys, guys, guys, guys..."  

"Woah, Louis, calm down!  It's only a little power outage, nothing to be afraid of," Zayn said, sounding slightly alarmed.  Louis turned his head, squinting through the blackness to no avail.  This wasn't  _right;_ he should not be squinting and blinking and focusing his gaze only to see absolutely  _nothing._ It was scary.  it was unorthodox.  He  _needed_ something, anything to free him from this...this awfulness...

"He's afraid of the dark, lads," a quiet, low murmur caught Louis's attention.  Mutters of realisation and acknowledgment sounded form the others, wherever they were, and Louis frowned slightly in surprise, momentarily forgetting the panic swarming his mind.  

"H-how did you know that, Haz?" he asked shakily, his voice little more than a whimper.  

Harry did not respond, and Louis's anxiety only grew as the blind, unseeing noises of rustling and creaking filled the blank space surrounding him, unkown.    

"S-Someone call my mum," he hissed anxiously through the night.  

"Your mum?  Why?" Liam asked in surprise from somewhere in the air, probably in his bunk.  

"I need Daisy and Phoebe," Louis whimpered.  

"Why?" Zayn echoed Liam, his voice sounding from the corner of the room.  

"Whenever..." Louis swallowed massively as his voice cracked.  "Whenever the power goes out, they sleep with me.  I  _need_  them." 

"Louis, we can't call your sisters up here in the middle of the night.  Besides, they're a good three hours away.  By the time they get here, the power will be back on."  

"I don't care," Louis breathed, his voice rising into a crescendo with every moment.  "I don't care, i just need... I just need someone..."  A loud, familiar sigh sounded from the direction of what Louis assumed was his bunk, and the sound of skin brushing wood reached his ears.  He froze, trembling slightly with nerves as he waited for what was most definitely a serial killer to whack him on the conk with a carrot.   The soft, familiar footsteps padded across the floor towards him, and Louis's entire frame tensed, fingers shaking at his sides and stiffly curled into his palms.  

Suddenly, a loud  _click_  reverberated through the room, and a moment later, a wave of heat engulfed Louis's face and torso as a glowing orange flame flickered to life before him.  He jumped spasmodically at the sudden burst of light, and his green eyes shifted from the gently-swaying flame to the face it had just illuminated, the face inches from his.   Harry was gazing down at him, concern etched into those jade green orbs as the golden light danced off his pale skin and turned his chocolate-brown curls to an odd shade of chestnut.  

"Boo," he whispered gently, extending his free hand to fall across Louis's shaking shoulder.  "Are you okay?"  

"Harry, why do you have a lighter?" Niall asked exasperatedly, and in the new light now filtering throughout the small room, Louis caught sight of the Irish lad hanging strangely out of his bunk, his short blonde hair swinging slightly beneath him.  

"Don't question it," Liam sighed.  "Harry, get Louis to bed, would you?  The last thing we need is Wagner barreling in here with his saucers of incense."  

"All right," Harry murmured as he gave Louis a reassuring nod and dropped his hand, turning to start back to his bunk.  

"H-Haz..." Louis gasped, his hand shooting forward, his fingers wrapping possessively around Harry's thin wrist.  

"What?" Harry asked in confusion as he turned to glance questioningly at Louis, one of his thick eyebrows cocked.  

"Just....I..." Louis stuttered, unable to offer a valid explanation as to why in  _hell_ he was not sleeping on his own tonight.   To his surprise, Harry seemed to understand, however.  He simply sighed and nodded gently to no-one in particular as wriggled his wrist from Louis's grip, replacing it with his own fingers and tugging Louis slowly towards the bunk.  

"Harry-"  

"Louis, shut up for a bit, will you?" Harry muttered, chuckling slightly to himself and sinking down onto Louis's mattress, causing the memory foam to dip around his hips, sending an enormous creak throughout the room.  

"You all should shut up," Zayn muttered grumpily as he grabbed a pillow and crammed it noisily and dramatically over his head, clamping the fabric down upon his ears.  

"Lou, ignore him," Harry whispered gently as his long, slender fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist, his eyes locking on the expression of growing anxiety on Louis's face.  He patted the empty space of mattress beside him, and Louis hesitated for a small moment before clambering onto the sheets, sending blankets rumpling and pillows tumbling.   "C'mon, into bed, now," Harry smiled slightly as he mothered him, tugging a corner of the comforter from the pillow and holding it expectantly open above the mattress. Louis swallowed nervously, his eyes wide and sharpened as they strained to focus on his dimly-lit surroundings.  

"Harry, be careful with that lighter," Liam hissed anxiously from the other side of the room as he rolled over sleepily in his bed.  "You're surrounded by  _wood._ "  

"Calm down, Li, it's fine," Harry murmured distractedly as Louis wriggled slowly beneath the comforter, shuffling his bottom forward and lowering himself down onto the pillow. He propped himself up onto his elbows, far too afraid and paranoid to risk lying down and closing his eyes, shutting off what small bit of sight he had left due to the lighter flickering eerily in Harry's hand.  

The flame cast a golden sheen across his skin, causing his palm to positively illuminate, the pink, peachy skin glowing in the darkness.  By the feeble, inconsistent light, Louis caught sight of the small, baby pink ridge inscribed above his wrist, and the image of the familiar burn somehow sent some comfort draping the corners of his mind.  Yet his eyes still flickered spasmodically about the blackened room, and he gulped loudly, his panic rising once more.  

"You okay?" Harry asked, and he slowly began to stand up from his perch on the mattress and ascend the ladder.  

"You- You're leaving?" Louis asked, his voice choked and quivering.  Harry frowned, going still as he heard the weak, vulnerable tone of Louis's voice, and he turned to stare intently into his bright green eyes, pupils wide and round against the irises.   "Lou, are you sure you're all right?" he pressed more anxiously, ignoring Louis's previous question.  

"I...I just..." Louis inhaled deeply, letting the air whir from his lips, his cheeks inflating as he struggled to calm himself.  "I..."  He gazed helplessly up at Harry, desperate to convey the message that there was no way in hell he was waiting out the outage in solitude.  If Harry would not comfort him, he would crawl into Niall's bunk, or into bed with one of the others.  Hell, he'd snooze with Wagner if he had to, as long as it meant he did not have to be on his own in the darkness.

Apparently, however, that would not be necessary.  

Harry smiled a sheepish, understanding smile through his pursed lips, so bland and colourless in the strange light of the flame, and he playfully nudged Louis's hip with the back of his hand, signaling for him to scoot over.

Louis nearly cried with relief.  Face tautening with mingled anxiety and alleviation as he shifted eagerly across the mattress, the blankets and sheets ruffled and wrinkled around his legs, and Harry crawled onto the mattress beside him, letting his legs slide beneath the comforter.  

"It's okay," he murmured tiredly, his voice croaking slightly with the lateness of the hour.  He yawned, his curls drooping slightly upon his head and dangling in his eyes.  A wave of guilt overcame Louis as he bit his lip, realising that he was responsible for Harry's exhaustion. Why should Haz have to suffer because of Louis's childish, irrational fear; something the other lads had probably overcome over a decade ago?  

He might have sighed and shooed Harry off to his own bunk for a proper night's sleep, he might have apologised and assured him that he would be fine on his own, but as the lighter in Harry' grasp flickered and was extinguished with a  _click,_ Louis realised just how unrealistic that would be.  No, he was  _not_  spending the night alone.  

He swallowed as he resisted the sudden habit of wrapping his arms around the person beside him and tugging him into his chest, patting his back.  It was something he always did with the twins every outage, and it had become second nature to him.  His muscles twitched, and his jaw clenched as he blinked through the blackness and tautened his limbs.  His breath fell stiffly and unevenly from his nose, pressing against his purse lips and sending loud whirs through the air, penetrating the silence.  

For many long, quiet, still moments, the five of them lay in the pitch darkness, listening to the increasing volume of Louis's breaths, occasional coughs and mutters resounding as they attempted to quiet him.  Eventually, when Louis's muscles had begin to grow sore from the prolonged tightness and Niall had twice cleared his throat from across the room, a loud creak sounded from somewhere far off Louis's right, and his head flipped spastically across the pillow and clanked heavily into Harry's as he was jolted with fright.  Over the sound of Harry's wincing, Zayn's voice growled in their direction.  

"Jesus Christ, Lou, just close your eyes and go the  _fuck_ to sleep!" He hissed with frustration.  

"Zayn," Liam reprimanded him quietly, although he did not bother to defend Louis.  

 _Oh, thanks, lads.  Thanks a lot,_ Louis thought, his sarcasm marred slightly by the nerves still buzzing through his head.  

"Well, I'm not getting any shut-eye over here," Zayn grumbled.  

"He's not the only one," Niall pitched in innocently, and Louis made a mental note to whoop both of their arses when he had the energy and motivation.  

"Harry...." Liam seemed to be asking tentatively, and Harry grumbled slightly to himself before seeming to sigh in relent.  

 _Harry, what?_ Louis wondered, his eyelids still fluttering as he strained to see through the impenetrable, solid wall of darkness.  

"C'mere, you," Harry sighed tiredly, his slow, gravely mumble sounding in Louis's ears before something strong, smooth, and warm was sliding awkwardly beneath his neck.  He blinked in surprise before realising that it was Harry's arm.  He was not sure why, but there was something exceedingly comforting about lying there, curled in his warm sheets, his head resting gently against the thin, muscular stretch of Harry’s bicep.  The lads muscles fluttered slightly beneath Louis, and Louis felt his own nerves begin to calm very, very slowly. 

“It’s okay, Louis, nothing’s gonna hurt you,” Harry assured him, his voice etched with concern. Louis swallowed. 

This feeling…It was so…so… _Different._ Whenever something like this happened back in Doncaster, Louis was the one relied on to comfort and protect others, when in reality, he had needed just as much comfort and protection as his sisters had.  He had never, ever received any, however…Until now. 

 _So this,_ he thought with mingled wonder and apprehension,  _Is what it feels like to be taken care of._ He had never felt that feeling before; it had always been Louis taking care of others.  This was so, so foreign to him…He was not used to it.  He was unaccustomed to this.  The fact that it was a younger, inexperienced  _lad_  comforting him made the entire situation seem only stranger yet. 

He did not protest, however, he did not question the strange feeling or object; he simply allowed the unfamiliar solace to envelope him.  He turned slightly onto his side out of sheer habit, his arms curling into his chest and nudging Harry’s torso as the boy cupped himself protectively around Louis.  The silky, feathery strands of Louis’s bangs tickled Harry’s chin, and as the darkness pressed inevitably into his eyes, he shuddered and nuzzled his face tightly into the hollow of Harry’s neck.  He had done so without thinking, and he felt Harry tense slightly beneath the touch, but the next second he was relaxing around Louis as he draped his free arm gently across the older boy’s back, his fingers brushing the bare skin of Louis’s arm, soothing him. 

“It’s okay, I promise,” he whispered gently, and astoundingly, Louis believed him.

 

⤞✧⤝


	13. Smile

⤞✧⤝

 

“We’re live in thirty seconds,” a quick, anxious voice breathed in Louis’s ear.  He jumped slightly, the action only fortifying the hectic mass of butterflies whirring spasmodically in the pit of his stomach. 

“Th-thanks,” he breathed to the cameraman, his voice shaking horribly as his lips began to tremble.  An overwhelmingly bizarre mix of emotions was clashing about his head and chest; a mingled accumulation of anxiety, excitement, and eagerness jabbing chaotically into his mind. 

Along with the mix of feelings was a solid, unshakable aura of sheer  _shock._

Less than two months ago—Jesus Christ,  _two months ago—_ he had been an ordinary lad living in the tiny city of Doncaster, South Yorkshire, the unknown, undiscovered boy who had been too afraid to step up and take his chance.  What would he have been doing in that moment, he wondered, if he had never stepped into that studio so many weeks ago and filled out the audition form?  He would probably be off getting pissed somewhere with Stan and Johnny, his old friends, or perhaps he would be babysitting the twins while his mother was busy at work.  Would he be sitting boredly at the foot of his bed, listening to music and dreaming of what it would be like to hear his own voice drifting from the headphones?  Would he be flipping through magazines, gazing longingly and desolately at the face of each celebrity, wondering how it would feel to see  _his_ figure printed across the airbrushed pages? 

But he  _wasn’t_ sitting in his lonely room.  He  _wasn’t_ gazing out his window, dreaming of what it would be like to be a  _star._ He was  _here,_ standing behind the curtains of the massive stage of the Fountain Studios arena, preparing to perform on international television and live before fifteen  _thousand_ people. 

What was more, he was standing beside the four most amazing people he could ever dream of sharing this moment with. 

To his left was Liam’s lean, tall form, his shoulders shaking slightly with nerves beneath the padded fabric of his leather jacket as he swallowed.  To Louis’s right was Niall, positively bouncing with excitement in his bulky sneakers, a nervous grin the size of the sun stretched across his pale lips.  Louis smiled slightly, relived that at least one member of the band was  _not_ melting on the spot with anxiety.

On Liam’s left was a very terrified-looking Zayn, his brown eyes impossibly wide with stress as he gazed fixatedly at his feet, his usually-tanned and flushed cheeks drained of any colour. 

And, of course, on Zayn’s other side was Harry.  Louis smiled goofily to himself as his eyes landed on the cheeky lad, running over his newly cut mop of curls.

A couple of hours before the show, a team of stylists had nearly kicked down the door of One Direction’s rehearsal studio, brandishing buzzing clippers and snapping pairs of scissors, and insisted astonishingly forcefully that each and every one of them get themselves into the dressing room “right that second.”  Apparently, the displeasing style of each lad’s hair was too much for each of the stylists to bear to look at from that point on, something for which Louis was admittedly grateful.  His previously wispy, shaggy head of hair had been shaped into a lightly tousled, much shorter style, one that may not have been as teasing or as voguish as Zayn’s new cut was, but was admittedly a great improvement.  Liam’s growing bangs and sideburns had been trimmed to neatly frame his face and forehead in what everyone was now calling “the Justin Bieber look.”  Niall, a massive Bieber fan, could not have possibly been more thrilled.  Speaking of Niall, his hair had undergone massive improvement; the previously shaggy and shapeless mass having been perfected to a much shorter, more sophisticated style, his dying job enhanced.  Each of the lads had personally breathed a sigh of relief when  _that_  mess of a hairdo had finally been put to rest. 

Louis had been quite surprised when one of the stylists had forced Harry into a chair and insisted that he was about to receive a proper haircut; he’d always thought harry’s hair was perfectly flawless as it was.  Sure, it might have been a little unruly and a little frizzy, but the look had seemed to suit him.  Nevertheless, to his greater surprise yet, Harry’s new cut had only improved his looks.  It was shorter, of course, but it seemed more….in control.  It made him look  _older,_ more sophisticated, and Louis was quite surprised with just how well it suited him. 

In any case, it was a very, very good thing that the stylists had gotten a hold of the lads before they’d had the change to go on stage.

“You ready?” the cameraman asked once more, and each boy nodded.  Louis glanced discretely down the line of lads, from Niall to Harry, and the last boy caught his eye as his head turned slightly.  Heart rocketing wildly about his throat, Louis felt a tiny smile pressing at the corners of his lips, and as Harry smiled back, those green eyes shining behind his mop of brown curls, a slight, barely noticeable sheen of calm settled lightly upon Louis’s shoulders.  That calm vanished, however, when he heard Simon’s booming voie announce, “One Direction!’ to the audience from behind the other side of the curtain.

An enormous swooping sensation whooshed past Louis’s middle, and he felt as if he were riding a rollercoaster as his stomach dropped.  His breath fell in quick, ragged pants from his parted lips as his eyes grew warm and his cheeks burned with adrenaline.  His heart pounded heavily and loudly in his ears as the enormous, mechanical gates fixed to the back of the stage parted, revealing the five lads waiting in place on the set of steps. 

As the Coldplay track began, reverberating deafeningly around the arena, the beat of Louis’s heart was drowned out, although he could still feel the wild pulse rocketing in his chest as he stepped forward, the microphone cradled carefully in his hands lest he drop it.  Swallowing, his throat feeling as if it were made of molten rubber, his jaw trembled as Liam opened his mouth and began to sing. 

“I used to rule the world; seas would rise when I gave the word.  Now in the morning I sleep alone, sweep the streets I used to own.” Louis wondered dimly behind the wave of surrealism dazing his senses how on earth Liam could force his voice to flow so calmly, when each of the lads was clearly scared out of his wits.  Louis glanced sideways, and sure enough, the microphone was shaking between Liam’s palms. 

“I used to roll the dice, feel the fear in my enemies eyes,” Zayn began, his voice perhaps not as strong as Liam’s had been.  “Listen as the crowd would sing, ‘Now the old king is dead, long live the king.’” 

Louis’s teeth clamped down on his lower lip as he struggled to keep himself together, and he vaguely remembered with a small jolt that he was supposed to be moving to the beat with the other lads.  Smacking himself mentally, he began to step forward in time to the music, cursing under his breath when he found that he was not in rhythm. 

“One minute I held the key, next the walls were closed on me, and I discovered that my castles stand on pillars of salt and pillars of sand,” Niall followed, and to Louis’s bewilderment, he turned to see and hear that absolutely no fear was in the voice or face of the Irish boy; he simply looked so incredibly  _thrilled._ At the sight of that broad grin and cheery blue eyes, Louis’s spirit lifted slightly, and he turned back to face the audience as he finally lifted the microphone to his mouth and began to sing.

“I hear Jerusalem bells a’ringing, Roman Calvary choirs are singing.  Be my mirror, my sword, and shield; my missionaries in a foreign field.  For some reason I can’t explain, I know St. Peter won’t cal my name.  Never an honest word, but that was when I ruled the world.”  As each and every member of the band came together to complete the first round of the chorus, voices and tones were heard that could not be discerned ordinarily.  Louis could hear the flawless, rich hum of Liam's voice; the overjoyed, excited trill of Niall's; the smooth, gentle whir of Zayn's; the heart-melting, gravelly melody of Harry's; and, of course, his own sweeter, more fluid voice.    

Simon was right; separated, they each mau not have been anything incredible.  True; they were  _good,_ but nothing worth taking a second glance at, nothing worth awing.  Together, however....

It seemed that each voice accented the other four, and that the other four in return would highlight the first.  Louis had always loved to perform.  He'd always loved to feel the spotlight shining on his face, only  _his,_ but this....This, sharing the stage with four of the most wonderful people he could possibly imagine, hearing his own voice resound and ricochet fantastically about the enormous arena,  _knowing_ that outside these walls, the entire  _world_ was watching...

To be put frankly, Louis had never, not once, felt so strong in his life.

It was all thanks to the four boys standing beside him.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

Approximately three and half minutes later, Harry was riding the largest, most powerful and overwhelming adrenaline rush he thought perhaps anyone had ever experienced.

His heart thrummed wildly in his chest; quite lightly, yet seemingly at the speed of light.  His cheeks were flushed and burning with mingled chagrin and excitement, and his eyes seemed to be glowing wtih heat within his skull.  Tiny dots of stark light seemed to be popping before his vision, and the grin was stretched so incredibly widely across his face that he was quite surprised his cheeks had not yet fallen off.  

Perhaps he was slightly uninhibited from the new, mind-blowing experience he had just undergone, but the single thing crossing his dazed mind was that he had just lived his dream, and if there was one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world, it was simply to  _do it again._ For the feelings of thousands upon thousands of voices cheering him on from below, of hot, bright lights blinding him and beating relentlessly down on his skin, of the sound of  _his_ voice drifting from that microphone, finally making itself heard...Those feelings were the best and the most powerful to ever have crossed his hear, and he wasn't going to forget them in a hurry.  

What was even better still was the fact that he had just shared the precise experience with four of his best friends.  Going through that episode on his own would have, of course, been incredible, but there was something about standing alongside his bandmates, sharing the load and the amazing feelings, that simply caused each and every detail of the occurrence to seem so much more amazing.  

Absolutely giddy with excitement, he grinned as he hopped spastically down the steps of the stage in a fashion surprising similar to Niall's usual, quirky stroll.  His stylist-shaped curls bounced slightly atop his head as he leaped with every step, feeling as if he had springs attached to the balls of his feet.  As he followed Louis and Niall down the narrow, dimly lit corridor backstage, a cameraman appeared with his equipment, immediately spluttering tangled questions and training the lens on the five thrilled, exhilarated boys.  Louis and Liam began speaking eagerly, breathless with excitement, but Harry found that he was far too wonderstruck to bother attempting speech.  He simply allowed his grin to widen ever further, if that was possible, and his eyes shone as he clung to Louis's sleep, bouncing skittishly towards the dressing room. 

"C-Can you  _believe_ that?" Liam asked dazedly, the smile plastered to his lips as he collapsed onto the counter top and leaned back against the wall.  

"Never," Louis shook his head, pausing for a moment as he lurched for a water bottle and began drinking vigorously, "In a million years will I  _ever_ believe this is anything more than a dream."

"Cheers, mate," Zayn laughed weakly, his face still white with shock.  

"Wow," Harry breathed.  "Our first performance.  Wow." 

"Let's hope it isn't our last," Liam pitched in anxiously, his eyebrows threading themselves together and his forehead lining with worry.

Louis shook his head, a knowing smile lingering on his lips as he screwed the lid onto the bottle before tossing it to Harry.  "Don't worry, Li," he said confidently, "I've got a feeling that this is just the beginning." 

 

⤞✧⤝

 

Harry strolled down the corridor of the X House, whistling happily as he frolicked, and feeling a bit  _too_ cheerful in that moment.  In any case, his skippy attitude was proving to be quite annoying for some of the other guests residing in the house, particularly Katie Waissel, who had been one of the acts voted "Bottom Two," and Wagner, who seemed to be a cross person altogether and didn't appreciate jovial moods in general.

However, Harry's sheer, overwhelming serendipity was not to be quashed anytime soon; it would be quite a while before he let anything dampen  _this_ mood.  He was more relaxed than he'd felt in awhile.  It was a Monday; the contestants' designated day off in the competition, and he was feeling particularly pleased and at ease.

As his feet scuffled obnoxiously against the beige-coloured carpet, the bottoms of his shoes darkening the area slightly, the quirky, cheeky smile stretching his closed lips widened, and his dimples dented his cheeks like craters.  His spirits were soaring, and he realised with a dim blow of surprise that, for the first time since leaving behind his home and relocating in that hell of a town Holmes Chapel, he was truly, genuinely  _happy._

The idea shocked him slightly, and as he screeched to a stop, his eyes widening thoughtfully, his open mouth formed a small circle between his cheeks.  

_Happy._

_Harry.  Happy._

_  
_The words didn't seem to go together; to make sense in any way, and yet...

He could  _not_ deny the thrilled serenity bubbling through his veins, igniting his limbs as if the supply had been dormant for quite a long time.  Harry had not been honestly  _happy_ for quite some time.  Of course, like every other person, he experienced bits and pieces of glee now and then; tiny flashes of hope.  Then, of course, before he could take time to appreciate the strange, wonderful emotions, he would be slapped by the cold hand of reality and remember that he was nothing but a talentless lad imprisoned in Holmes Chapel, misunderstood and unknown, never to live his dream.

...But now?  What would happen now?

So many things seemed to be left to chance, so  _many_ risks were being taken, and yet Harry could not have possibly been more grateful- for the opportunity, the dream, the people...

 _Particularly_ the people.  Harry had never once been surrounded by so many wonderful friends before, people he could  _trust_ and whom, in turn, could trust  _him._ It was nothing short of terrific, Harry knew, and he was not about to waste this gift, this stroke of luck, any time soon.

Speaking of his friends, where had they got off to?  He knew Zayn and Niall were messing about in the game room, and that Liam was playing a very amateur game of footie on the lawn with Aiden, but where was Lou?  

As Harry approached the location of One Direction's bedroom, he quietly placed a hand on the knob and turned, pushing the door silently open.  Stepping inside, he turned to inspect the room, and his question was answered for him.

Louis was curled neatly atop the mess of a floor, his legs crossed and his back resting relaxedly against the pale wood of his bunk.  A catalog sat in his small, tanned hands, its pages turned noisily with a flick of Lou's fingers.  

However, that was not the only thing Harry notied about the scene.  He squinted, aware that there was something unfamiliar before his eyes, yet not quite sure what it was.  As his gaze sharpened, taking in each aspect of the older lad's appearance, he suddenly realised what was so new within the picture.

On Louis’s nose was an unfamiliar pair of what were unmistakably glasses.  The shape of bricks and framed in ebony, they rested before his eyes, only very slightly magnifying the soft shade of azure glinting in his irises. 

Harry blinked slowly in surprise; he had never seen Louis in glasses before.  It was…He wasn’t quite sure.  It  _suited_ him; quite well, in all honesty.  The accessory added a hint of maturity and intellect.  He looked…He looked wonderful, Harry realised dimly, the corners of his lips turning slightly as the familiar dimples created craters in his peachy cheeks. 

His green eyes seemed to soften as he watched Louis, whose lips were moving slightly, shaping around barely breathed words as his blue eyes scanned the text of the catalogue he was flipping through, his gaze so incredibly focused.  Harry took a step into the room without hesitation. 

“Boo!” he exclaimed quietly, grinning when Louis’s head turned and the boy jumped slightly against the carpet. 

“Hazza, you scared me,” he whined childishly, although a playful tone of delight had crept into his voice, complemented by a wide smile. 

“That was the idea, silly,” Harry teased him, walking further into the room and sinking down to floor, inches from Lou, resting his back against the base of the bunk.  He grimaced as this shirt snagged on the wood, and the fabric was stretched around his ribs.  Louis giggled, biting his lip as he extended his hands and gently tugged the fabric from the bunk, patting it carefully back into place, and Harry’s grin widened. 

“What are you looking at?” Harry asked interestedly, eying the magazine in Louis’s hands, and as he stretched his neck to peer at the text, his shoulder collided softly with Lou’s. 

“Nothing much, just a catalog,” Louis shrugged, not bothering to move his arm from where it now rested beneath Harry’s.  “Why?” 

“No reason,” Harry shrugged back, his shoulder moving against Louis’s, and he continued, “I was just wondering…Do you always wear glasses when you read?  I’ve never seen you in them before.”  As Harry eyed Louis, waiting for a response, the Doncaster lad’s cheeks slowly flooded with heat, and his lips parted in realisation as he quickly raised his hands and snatched the black glasses from his nose. 

“Shit,” he apologized.  “I….Er, I hadn’t meant for anyone to see those.” 

“Why not? Harry asked incredulously, his fingers straining towards the glasses clasped in Louis’s palm, and he took them into his own hands. 

“I…They don’t…” Louis struggled, his eyes flitting nervously about the room.  “They make me look silly, all right?” he finally relented, his cheeks now a deep shade of maroon. 

Harry blinked stupidly at him for a long moment, his jaw hanging open, before he finally remembered to close his lips, and he frowned sternly at the boy beside him. 

“Louis, don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed.  How could Louis— _Louis,_ of all people—think he looked anything less than great?  If anything, he looked ever better with those quirky glasses, outlining the sharp curves of his jaw and cheekbones, highlighting the bronze in his skin….

“I do!” Louis exclaimed in protest, still red from the confrontation, and Harry rolled his eyes in disbelief. 

"Hush, you.  I want to try something.” He said determinedly. Louis’s eyebrow arched in suspcion as he spoke.  “And you better not stop me, all right?” Harry added, waggling a stern finger in his direction, and despite his indignation, a tiny smile began to curl Louis’s parted lips. 

“We’ll see,” he smirked, and Harry sighed before parting the temples of the glasses in his hands and raising them slightly in the air.  Realising what he was about to do, Louis rose his own hand, shielding his face from harry’s, but Harry frowned. 

“You promised, Boo,” he pouted, and this time, it was Louis’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“I did no such thing!” he insisted. 

“Please?” Harry begged, pressing his lower lip forward in an exaggerated sulk, and Louis sighed, turning his gaze pointedly from the expression Harry knew he could not deny. 

“No, Haz, really…” 

“We’ll see,” Harry mocked him playfully, before, without warning, he pounced, tackling Louis to the carpet and pinning him to the floor with his knees. 

“Harry!” Louis exclaimed in surprise, panting slightly from the unexpectedly blow, blue eyes wide with alarm.  Harry grinned, hovering above Louis, his brunette curls falling clumsily about his face. 

“Put the glasses on, Lou,” he teased, a playfully threatening note in his voice, and Louis grinned widely, shaking his head back and forth. 

“No!” he insisted childishly, his feathery hair flopping about his ears, and Harry snickered, noting just how  _young_ and immature Louis now looked, as opposed to the sensible, serious figure he’d seen only moments before.  Well, he wanted to see that side of Louis again, and he’d make sure that he would. 

“Yes,” Harry countered, his fingers tightened around Louis’s wrists as he pressed them gently to the floor, and Louis giggled, shaking his head more vigorously.  “Lou Bear, don’t make me get physical with you…” Harry warned, mock-anger filling his voice, and Louis scoffed. 

“Haz, if this isn’t  _physical,_ I’m not sure what is,” he pointed out, nodding in the obvious position they now occupied, Harry’s legs still straddling Louis by the hips. 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry admitted sheepishly, and Louis winked.  “But you still have to put the glasses on,” Harry continued, and Louis whined. 

“Harry, I really don’t want you to see me in them,” Louis admitted, his eyes clouding with stubbornness as he frowned up at the Cheshire lad above him. 

“Louis, I’ve already seen you in them.” He reminded him. 

“I know, and that’s as much as you ever  _will_ see,” Louis snapped. 

“Why?” Harry asked curiously, lost as to why Louis was so insecure about his glasses.  “Why do you care how I feel about you in glasses, Boo?” 

“I…” Louis stuttered, his cheeks pinkening.  “I dunno,” he admitted.  “I just…I look ridiculous, and….And you…” 

“Me, what?” Harry continued, his lips parting and his head cocking as he slowly released Louis’s wrists and sat back on his heels to gaze down at him. 

“I dunno,” Louis said again, his cheeks redder than Harry had ever seen them, and he pushed himself onto his elbows to lean into the carpet, his hips still locked beneath Harry’s knees.  “I just….We’re so close, you and I…And…Well, I suppose I don’t’ want you to think badly of me.” Louis finally confessed, his blue eyes locked shyly on a snag of the rug below him, and his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat as he swallowed. 

Harry opened and closed his mouth many times for a long moment before he blinked, eyes widening, and allowed his torso to lean slightly forward once more, closing part of the distance remaining between the two of them.  

“Listen to me,” he said seriously, his voice serious and gravelly as it lowered in his throat.  “Louis, I swear to you that I am the  _one_ person you do not have to hide  _anything_ from.  You never have to be embarrassed, or ashamed, because I’ll always be understanding, all right?  I’ll always  _be_ here.”  Louis’s eyes finally met his, a swimming cascade of green and blue, and he bit his lip, looking more like a lost puppy than a man. 

“You…You’re serious?  You mean all that?” he asked hesitantly, as if he could not believe what Harry was saying. 

“How could I not, Boo?” Harry asked gently.  “It’s the least I could do for you, after all you’ve done for me.” 

“But Hazza,” Louis began, looking sheepishly up at him.  “I don’t mean to sound like a tosser or anything, but I haven’t exactly  _done_ anything for you.”  A grin stretched across Harry’s lips, and he emitted a bark of laughter, his curls splaying across his face. 

“You’re such a berk, Louis,” he chuckled.  “Of course you have.  Do…Do you know how rare it is for me to…To have a relationship like this?  To let people in?  It’s not common, Boo, and…And it usually comes back to bite me in the arse, but…But with you….” He shrugged helplessly, rocking back onto his heels and finally untangling his legs from Louis’s, slipping into a sitting position beside him.  “I dunno.  You listen.  You understand.  You never judge me, and…You...you  _care._ And that’s more than anyone’s ever done for me.” 

“Well, then, you’ve been hanging out with the wrong sort of people,” Louis grinned, his eyes soft as he playfully poked Harry beneath the ribs, and Harry yelped in surprise, smiling widely. 

 _Maybe,_ Harry thought contemplatively, his eyebrows furrowing as focus enveloped his brain,  _he just hadn’t been hanging out with Lou._

“So, will you do this one thing for me?” he asked, a small smile curling his lips as he dangled the glasses in the air before Louis’s face, and Louis groaned childishly. 

“But Hazza,” he whined.  “I don’t  _want_ to.” 

“Such a child,” Harry muttered, grinning, and before Louis could stop him, he’d unfolded the pair of ebony glasses and, without warning, pushed them smoothly onto the older boy’s bronzed, flawless nose. 

Louis’s blue eyes widened with surprise, and his hand raised from his side as he prepared to snatch the accessory from his face, but Harry’s long fingers wrapped loosely around his wrist before he could do so.  The younger lad turn onto to his side, and as Louis’s eyes met his own, they widened, his lips parted slightly.  Harry nearly sighed with awe; Louis looked….He just looked….God. 

“See?” he murmured gently, his thumb sub-consciously tracing the contours of Louis’s palm.  “Beautiful.” 

As Louis’s eyes rounded and his face smoothed, his fingers gently squeezed Harry’s, and he smiled.

 

⤞✧⤝


	14. Be Like You

⤞✧⤝

 

Preparing for their second performance was no less nerve-wracking or exciting for any of the boys.  If anything, each lad was only more eager to perfect his presentation and undergo another fantastic, adrenaline-surging experience on the enormous stage, dedicated to them and only  _them._

However, the boys were strangely mellow today, for once, seeing as they were still exhausted from their miraculous performance of the previous night.  Harry smiled happily to himself as he settled upon the sofa of the studio rehearsal hall, Louis crashing goofily into his side on his right.  Harry laughed, eyes crinkling with laid-back serenity as Louis grinned in his direction and Niall perched eagerly upon the arm of the sofa to the Cheshire boy's left.  

If any of the boys was showing the slightest hint of hyper enthusiasm and attention, it would be Liam.  Unlike the other four, his face held an expression of great seriousness and trepidation as he watched Simon fiddle through his nose, teeth clamping fervently into his lower lip and fingers drumming across the bone of his knee.  He, of all the others, seemed to be the most anxious and eager to please Simon and to throw every ounce of his flesh and blood into this experience.  Swallowing guiltily, Harry supposed that perhaps he and the other three should behave a bit more dedicatedly, but  _hey,_ he was having fun, and he was working hard.  That was all that was necessary; especially according to Lou, seeing that he, of all five, seemed to be the most laid-back and reckless. 

“We’ve got three solos this week,” Simon murmured distractedly, his eyebrows furrowing and his forehead lining as he eyed the clipboard in his hands, and each of the lad’s spines seemed to straighten slightly at his words.  Simon noticed, and his eyebrow arched as he lifted his gaze and shot a knowing smile to each boy. 

“The coaches and I have decided that the breakdown of the song will go to Zayn,” Simon said, and a shy smile stretched across Zayn’s pink lips as he grinned.  Niall nudged him proudly in the ribs, and Zayn smirked, shoving him playfully. 

“Liam, you’ll get the first verse,” Simon continued, and Liam’s cheeks pinkened as he beamed embarrassedly at the floor, toeing the gleaming wood with the edge of his boot. 

Harry’s heart fell slightly.  Honestly, he trusted Simon’s judgement more than that of any other, but the two boys he’d mentioned had received solos the previous week, along with Niall.  Harry thought, somewhat ashamedly, that perhaps the solos should go to he and Louis, or at the very least, Louis and two of the other boys.  His voice was so beautiful, so unique, and the fact that he hadn’t yet gotten a chance to share it with the world didn’t seem to fair.  To be quite frank, Harry wouldn’t mind having a solo either. 

He grimaced sheepishly as he waited for Simon to announce the final soloist.  No doubt, it would go to Louis.  Louis had earned it.

“I’ve decided to give the second verse to you, Harry.”

_What?_

“M-Me?” Harry quaked, his green eyes widening.   _He_ was receiving the spotlight solo of the performance?  Simon truly thought that  _he_ , Harry, had the potential to sing twelve measures of a song live on international television?  His heart skittered in his chest, and the corners of his lips turned upwards slightly.  

“Nice one!” Louis breathed in his ear with a grin, clapping him gently on the back and rubbing his shoulders congratulatorily.  

“Thanks,” Harry whispered slowly, blinking as the others nodded towards him, smiling.  “You really want me to sing the solo?” he asked, eyes still wide as he glanced up at Simon.  Simon seemed to hesitate before nodding confidently to himself.  

“Yeah, I think you’re ready.”  

“Wow…” Harry breathed.  Simon Cowell, virtually the top talent scout on Earth, though  _he,_ Harry, was ready, was competent….

He had never felt so proud of himself before, he realised, a strange, unfamiliar sense of accomlishment and worth blossoming through his chest.  His cheeks pinkened, and he stared determinedly down at his lap as he struggled to repress the smile pushing eagerly at his lips.  He’d never felt so…so important?  Valuable?  Whatever the word, this feeling was quite foreign, and quite fulfilling.  

“So, Harry, are you up for it?” Simon asked.  

“Oh, y-yeah!  Of course,” Harry nodded quickly, his heart still pumping somewhat vigorously in his chest, and Simon clapped his hands together.  

“Excellent.  Now, Liam, you’re going to have a ten-meausre instrumental introduction,” Simon began, and Harry swallowed tightly as he absorbed the situation.  

He was going to sing a solo  _live_ on international television, along side the four best mates a person could ask for.  It was so, so strange…. A couple of months ago, he was an unheard of, unhappy lad, trapped indefinitely in that hellhole Holmes Chapel.  His life had taken a complete one-eighty-degree transformation, and he was absolutely positive it had changed for the better.     

 

 

⤞✧⤝

 

 

“Sound check in five!” Harry jumped as Savan’s voice startled him, and Niall chuckled as he slammed his elbow in the arm of his chair. 

“Oh, yeah, Nialler, just hilarious, ennit?” he rolled his eyes, wincing as he rubbed his funny bone.

“Mm-hm!” Niall hummed happily to himself.  “C’mon, let’s go to sound check.  Ready to rock your solo on  _stage?_ ” 

“Yeah,” Harry said lowly, smiling nervously. 

“You’ll be great.  Think how awesome things’ll be back home! They’ll love you!” Niall exclaimed.  Harry’s muscles tautened and his smile slid at the thought of  _home._ He didn’t want to think about Holmes Chapel in that moment.  He had already received literally hundreds of messages, calls, and texts from so-called “friends” from that hellhole, all congratulating him on reaching the live shows, when, eight years ago, they had been the nightmare of his childhood. 

“That’s not important,” he muttered darkly to himself, and Niall’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment before he shrugged and held the door open for Harry. 

“Just think,” Niall was saying eagerly.  “It’s just you and the microphone on that stage.”

“And you lot,” Harry pointed out sheepishly.

“And the audience,” Niall continued, as if he hadn’t heard him.  “Fifteen  _thousand_ people, just waiting to see your solo debut!  And, of course, the quarter billion viewers watching on the television set.”

“I d-don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out of this, Nialler,” Harry mumbled, his voice catching anxiously in his throat.  “I mean…You’ve had a solo before.  It’s nothing special.”

“Whatever, Haz,” Niall rolled his eyes.  “You know it is.  I know  _I’ll_ never forget how it felt to sing up there like that, all those eyes locked on you, watching you, hearing  _your_  voice…”  Harry clenched his teeth, his eyes widening slightly. 

“So, how about that weather today?” he asked loudly, pointedly, and Niall shot him a strange look.  He opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, Zayn stepped into the hallway and began making conversation with the Irish lad.  Harry sighed, his breath trembling slightly, as a small bundle of anxiety began to nestle itself in the pit of his stomach.  He forced it back quickly; he’d never had stage fright, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start  _now._

“All right, you all here?” Simon called as Niall, Zayn, and Harry stepped up onto the stage.  Liam approached them from the other end. 

“Reckon so,” Zayn mumbled.  

“Where’s Lou?” Harry asked, frowning as he searched for the missing member.  As if on queue, an enormous, distant holler sounded from far-off backstage, in a  _very_  familiar voice.  

“Noooooo!” Louis was wailing, and Harry’s eyebrows rose in alarm as a very exasperated-looking security guard tramped onto the stage, a certain, blue-eyed Doncaster lad wrapped tightly around his leg.  “I! Want! My! Pudding!” Louis screeched indignantly, his face forming a severe, grouchy pout as the guard walked towards them with difficulty, the smaller boy dragging him down.

“I’ve got the last one,” the guard muttered, rolling his eyes boredly at the ceiling as if to ask the heavens,  _“Why me?”_

“Louis!” Simon snapped sharply.  “We will get you your pudding once we’ve finished sound check!”  Louis sniffled sassily, sticking his nose in the air and brushing himself carefully off as he rose to his feet.  

 _“Fine,_ ” he said, “But I assure you, I am  _not_  pleased.”  Niall snickered, and Louis shot him a cheeky wink, eyebrows waggling.  Simon sighed, pressed the tips of his fingers into his temples, before announcing, “All right, whatever.  Just take your places.  Savan, are you ready?”  Savan nodded from the front row of seats, where he sat patiently with a clipboard and headset.  

“And…queue the track!” Simon shouted, turning his head slightly to glance up at the soundbooth, and a moment later, the opening notes of the song burst to life with deafening volume.  Harry took a deep, shaky breath, a strange, uncomfortable sort of heat blooming behind his eyes, and Liam began to sing.  “I guess this means you're sorry, standing at my door."

Harry eyed the Wolverhampton lad as he grinned down at an imaginary audience, positively bursting with confidence.  He wondered vaguely just how Liam managed to muster the poise and the courage necessary to sing his heart out the way he did with a crowd of fifteen thousand watching him, judging him; not to mention, as Niall so  _kindly_ reminded him, the additional quarter billion viewers observing from home.  This, of course, brought Harry to wonder just how he  _himself_ would be able to pull off the same task.

At this thought, an anxious lump lodged itself sharply in his throat, and he blinked quickly, struggling to repress the heat that seemed to be emanating from his cheeks.  Suddenly, his breath seemed to be falling startlingly quickly from his nose as he bit his lip.  The time leading to Harry's first live solo, rehearsal or not, was shortening.  At this thought, a solid, uncomfortable swoop seemed to attack his middle, sending a very vague, nearly unnoticeable wave of nausea crawling slowly up his throat.  

As the lads approached the end of the chorus, the churning in Harry's stomach gradually grew more and more noticeable. 

"Stop it, stop it," he cursed under his breath, squeezing his yes shut as he attempted to force back the uncomfortable queasiness edging up his chest. Niall shot him a strange look out of the corner of his eye, but Harry simply shook his head, gulping. The chorus drew to an end. It would be Harry's turn any moment now.  The familiar chords of the song rang loudly throughout the arena, announcing the beginning of Harry's solo. Heart drumming unsteadily against his chest, his middle giving an unpleasant lurch, he opened his dry lips to sing. But nothing came out. His mouth moved silently in sync with the lyrics, by the only sound echoing into the microphone was the uneven whispers of his breath. He couldn't do it.  A sweat broke out across his palms, and the microphone slipped suddenly between his hands. He lurched forward to catch it, gasping slightly as his nausea grew. 

"Stop, stop," Simon called impatiently, looking very annoyed as he put a hand up, and he track died. "Harry, you're not supposed to  _drop_  the microphone, you're supposed to  _sing_  into it. Have you forgotten the lyrics?" Harry's chest tightened. He didn't think he could make a sound. He clasped his free hand over his diaphragm, praying that a note, a pitch, anything would come from his lips, but once again, all that sounded was his ragged breathing. 

"Hey," a sweet, familiar voice said suddenly. "Harry, mate," Louis whispered lowly as he quickly strode to Harry's side, putting a hand in his shoulder. "You don't look well, are you alright?" Harry's eyes met the anxious hazel of Louis's, and, lips parted, he tried desperately to convey that he was not about to sing any time soon. Louis's face, hidden in shadow as he leaned towards Harry, filled with understanding.  "Hey, it's okay," he murmured, giving him a reassuring nod and squeezing Harry's shoulder, his honey-scented breath falling over Harry's face. Harry felt fractionally comforted by the gesture, and, inhaling deeply through his mouth, he let his eyes slide shut. What was happening? "Harry's got a bit of stage fright," Louis said casually to Simon, and Harry opened his eyes in surprise. He had never, not in all his time as a performer, had stage fright. He had been a little nervous during his  _Battle of the Bands_  competition, and of course his audition had him feeling a bit uneasy, but no on-stage experience had never had his knees knocking and his heart thrumming as they were now. Simon sighed, waving over one of the vocal coaches.  

"Can someone please have a look at Harry?"  The coach jogged up on stage, hurrying over to Harry and putting hand on his shoulder, ducking to peer into his face beside Louis.  

"Harry?  How are you feeling?"  

"Just...Just really bad..." Harry croaked, sealing his lips as quickly as he could, the feeling of bile rising in his throat.  Louis gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, and, feeling faintly dizzy, Harry felt himself tipping forward until his head knocked into Lou's shoulder, his forehead pressing into the soft, sweet-smelling fabric of his tee-shirt, and Lou put a comforting arm around him, tugging him closely into his chest and supporting his weight. Taking deep, shaky breaths, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, instinctively curling into Lou's warm grasp.  

"Yeah, he doesn't look too good," the coach muttered distractedly.  "Can you sing for us?"  

"No," Harry moaned immediately, shaking his head slightly against Lou's shoulder, mussing the fabric of his soft shirt as he did so.  

"All right.  You know, I think we should take him out.  I would really like him to sit this one out; I mean, if he can't sing, then there's no point in him being here."  

"What?" Harry mumbled in alarm, looking up to glance worriedly at the coach.  Surely, he wasn't suggesting that Harry... That Harry went home... 

"Just for tonight, okay?  Until you're feeling better."  

"No," Harry whispered, leaning slowly back onto Louis, feeling terrible.  "No, I can't sit it out.  The band..."  

"Fine," the coach sighed.  "Just...Just for now, then.  Go have a nice lie down, take a nap, just feel better by tonight."  Harry nodded weakly.  

"Will someone take Harry to the green room?" Simon called. 

"Sure, I can go," Zayn volunteered casually, starting for Harry, whose heart dropped slightly. He didn't want Zayn's comfort, even if Zayn was one of his best mates. He wanted the company of the boy beside him, who still happened to have his hand tightly wrapped around Harry's shoulder. 

"No," Louis snapped, suddenly looking cross. "I'll take him."  Zayn fell back, looking surprised as Louis slid an arm protectively around Harry's waist, and Harry found himself leaning into Louis's side for support.  "It's okay," Louis murmured gently in his ear again as they started for the greenroom, and despite the terrible feeling rushing through his body, despite the pounding headache beginning to harden in his temples, Harry found himself believing him.  

"I...I'm fine, Lou, you really don't-"

"Shut up, Harry, and just relax for a bit," Louis sighed, rolling his eyes, and the ghost of a smile lit Harry's lips. Louis's fingers tightened on Harry's side, the warmth running through the fabric of his shirt and heating Harry's skin. A cold breeze washed over the two if them as they entered the dim greenroom, chilling Harry's perspiring skin. He took a shaky breath as Louis pulled him over to the long, comfortable couch and slid a strong, warm hand beneath his back, lowering him slowly onto the cushions. He was babying Harry far more than he should- Harry was perfectly capable of sitting down without assistance- yet somehow, he didn't mind in the slightest. 

"There you are, then. Just relax, Haz, it'll be alright." Louis said, his tone flowing with a tenderness not often heard in his voice. "How are you feeling?" he added anxiously. 

"Lousy," Harry muttered, his eyes fluttering shut as the cool leather touched his skin. 

"I'll bet," Louis murmured understandingly, giving Harry's curls an affection rumple, stroking the locks .  As his long fingers ran through Harry's hair, he found himself slightly calmer, and relaxed at his touch. "There. See, you just need to relax." Louis said, giving his head a silly pat and grinning, clearly pleased with himself. "Well, if you're okay here, I'm gonna get back to the lads and-" 

"No," Harry said suddenly, his eyes flying open, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed Louis's hand in his, warmth emanating from the point where their palms clasped, Harry's feverish skin hot against Louis's cool, smooth hand. "Please stay," he begged, a slow blush creeping up his neck. He didn't know why he craved Louis's company so badly, or why he felt like he was breaking when they were apart. All he knew was that if Lou went back to the others and left him on his own, he wouldn't be able to handle it. Maybe it was simply the fact that he needed someone, anyone, there for him at the moment, and Lou just so happened to be the only person at hand. He watched with trepidation as those teal eyes focused on their intertwined fingers and slowly roamed Harry's weak, desperate face, and a shaky smile grew on his lips as he nodded. 

"Course I will. Can't let little Hazza be on his own, now can we?" he grinned playfully, and Harry rolled his eyes. That was one of the things he liked about Louis. No matter what the situation, he always managed to make things calm and comfortable, always joking and always making Harry smile, even if he was in a state such as this. There was never an awkward moment between them, and that was just how they liked it. Thy way they got on... It was just natural. They clicked. Harry doubted two people had ever or would ever be as good of friends as he and Lou were, and it thrilled him. 

"Scooch that lovely arse over, I wanna sit down," Louis grinned, and Harry chuckled weakly as he pushed himself backward into the crook of the cushions. 

"All right, my arse has been scooched.  C'mere, Boobear." 

"Gladly!" Louis laughed, lying down on the narrow couch, his shoulder pressing tightly into Harry's chest. "You feeling better yet?" he added, turning his head slightly to look into Harry's face, the green glinting in his eyes. He was happy, Harry realized, and when Lou was happy, he supposed that he was happy as well, even if his body was telling him otherwise. 

"Yeah," he sighed, tearing his eyes quickly from Lou's and letting his head lull back onto the armrest as his eyes closed. 

"Liar," Louis smiled, smirking slightly. Well, he was right. As Harry's thoughts drifted back to the solo, the churning in his belly resumed, and his cheeks paled. He really had thought he could do it; sing his part, but apparently he had been wrong, because the moment he had opened his mouth to sing, a wave if terrible dread had washed over him.  "I can always tell, Haz," Louis continued, jolting Harry from his thoughts. 

"How?" Harry breathed, his eyes still closed, his heart still fluttering as Louis's arm warmed his chest. 

"I dunno, I just can. It's in your eyes, I guess."  

"My eyes?" Harry mumbled, confused. 

"Yeah," Louis replied vaguely. "They're like lie detectors," he chuckled. 

"Just like your eyes are like mood rings," Harry smiled slightly. 

"That's right," Louis laughed. "Guess we're both freaks." 

"You know what? That's okay with me, just as long as we can be freaks together." Anything the pair of them did was fine with Harry.  As long as he had Louis by his side, nothing would stand in his way.  Louis grinned, patting Harry's stomach teasingly. Immediately, it registered in Harry's mind that the gesture had been a terrible mistake, for his stomach began burning worse than ever, and his eyes flew open with alarm.  

Louis yelped in surprise as Harry weakly flung him off of the couch, lurching upright and dashing as quickly as he could for the waste bin in the corner of the room, emptying the contents of his stomach into it.  As he bent over, one hand clutching his side and one gripping the metal rim of the bin, he felt a soft, warm sensation across his back, rubbing his shoulder gently, and he became aware of a sweet voice murmuring comfort in his ear. Another hand was carefully tucking his hair behind his ear, lest it get in the way of his mouth, and brushing it back across his head.  

He stood up slowly, his knees wobbling, and he turned to see Louis standing behind him, his usually-joking face riddled with concern for his friend. He silently held out a sheet of paper towel, and Harry shot him an apologetic glance before grabbing the paper towel and wiping it across his lips. Lou watched helplessly as Harry walked to the sink and stuck his head beneath the faucet, rinsing his mouth. 

"Sorry," Harry muttered embarrassedly as he rose. 

"Shut it," Louis sighed, hurrying to Harry's side and grabbing his arm, slinging it over her should and helping him back to the couch.  He awkwardly lay down on the cushions, tugging Harry down in front of him.  Harry's stomach clenched as Louis wrapped an arm around his side and pulled him gently into his chest, the strong muscles of his torso pressing tightly to his back, and the sweet, hot breath of Lou warmed his neck. 

"I feel pathetic," Harry admitted, although he did feel reasonably better now that he was lying down beside his best mate. "I shouldn't feel so sick because some stupid nerves, but God, every time I think about that solo..." 

"Harry," Louis sighed, his hand tightening comfortingly on Harry's waist, sending another strange blush crawling up Harry's neck. "Listen, you're not the only performer to go through this. In fact, I know of a certain Boobear who experienced the same thing a bit ago," he smiled, and Harry turned his head slightly, his curls brushing Louis's chin. He watched as Louis's eyes widened slightly, but a gentle, cool smile lit his lips as his arm tautened on Harry's middle. "I remember when we were rehearsing  _Grease_ ," he began. "I was always so confident. I could never picture stage fright, because, like you, I just love performing, and it gives me such a rush. I never thought for a second that I would ever have any nerves. But when opening night came, I took one look behind the curtain and saw the hundreds of people out there, waiting for me to perform, and I just lost it. I was throwing up, I was sweating, and I mean really sweating. It was nasty," he wrinkled his nose, and Harry laughed. "And I even ran straight up to the director of the play and told her that I couldn't go on, and that I was going right home for a bubble bath and a bowl of Curiously Cinnamon."  Harry grinned, momentarily forgetting his nerves. 

"Same old Louis," he snickered, and Louis shrugged sheepishly. 

"Well, do you know what that director did?" he went on. 

"Nope, but I'm sure you're going to tell me," Harry said cheekily, and Louis rolled his eyes, swatting him on the side of the head. 

"Haz, you're ruining the epicness of my story. Shut up," 

"What? You asked, and I-" 

"Anyways," Louis said loudly, cutting the lad off, and Harry smiled, pleased with himself. "She put her hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eye, and said, 'Lewis Tomlinson, you are a performer, my friend. Don't let a bunch of strangers who have nothing better to do on a Saturday night take that away from you.'" A long pause filled the air, and Harry's eyebrows furrowed with confusion. 

"Lewis?" he finally asked. 

"She never did learn my name," Louis sighed. "But do you see my point?"  

"Yes," Harry said with a sly leer. "I have to take a bubble bath with you."

"Ah, if only that was the case.  My friend, it would be my dream to bathe with you." Louis sighed with mock-sadness, rolling his eyes and moving his free hand to run his fingers through Harry's hair. Harry snickered, snuggling instinctively into Louis's arms. He wasn't sure what was so amazing about behind held like this. All he knew was that it made him feel safe and comfortable, and, well, wanted. When Lou was around, he never felt lonely or left-out, or as if he didn't belong. It always seemed as if there was someone behind him, someone who had his back. 

"But honestly, do understand what I'm trying to say?" Louis asked.  When Harry did not respond, Lou sighed and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, roughly turning him on the cushions until they were facing each other, those ice green eyes locked on Harry's.  "Haz," Louis said gently. "You have so, so much to offer. You know how incredible your voice is, and you're a charmer on stage. As my dear, amnesia-inflicted director told me, don't ever let anything take that away from you, whether it be nerves, or stage fright, or even lack of confidence.  No, listen," he said, reaching over and pressing his palm over Harry's lips as he opened his mouth to protest.  Slightly annoyed, Harry bit down on the warm skin of his hand, but Louis only grinned.  "Seriously, Haz.  I can see how happy you are when you perform.  You...You sort of transform from that confused, nervous man into someone who knows where they belong and what their purpose is.  It's pretty amazing, Harry, and not everyone has that gift.  Tonight is your moment to shine.  So at eight o'clock, you're gonna get your fabulously shaped arse out on that stage and show the world what you can do."  Harry's throat tightened.  The fact that Louis had so much faith in him meant more than anything to him.  

"Do you really think that, Lou?  Or are you just saying that because you know it's what I want to hear?" he whispered, his green eyes flooded with emotion.  

"'Course I think that, you silly berk, who wouldn't?" Louis grinned, smacking Harry playfully on the shoulder.  Harry smiled shakily, the prospect of that evening back in his head.  

"I just...I don't know if I can do it," he croaked hoarsely, turning his head to gaze up at the ceiling, his cheeks burning with shame.  "I mean, you're right, I love performing, and I want more than anything to please the audience, and Simon, and you lot.  I don't want to let you down.  But...But when I opened my mouth to sing that solo, I just...I couldn't do it." As Harry spoke, he felt as if a heavy weight was being lifted off of his shoulders, yet at the same time, his chest was doused with humiliation.  How could he let himself feel so foolish?  This wasn't how stars like Justin Bieber and Ed Sheeran felt before going on-stage, so why did he?  Because you're not a star, a voice murmured from the back of his head.  You know you don't have what it takes.  "Shut up," he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut.  

"Erm, I didn't say anything," Louis said awkwardly.  

"Not you," Harry sighed, and a tiny smile curled the corner of Lou's mouth.  "Louis, what am I gonna do?" Harry whispered, biting his lip.  Louis's eyes roamed sympathetically over him a for a moment before he sighed, seeming to relent.  

"Come here, Haz," he said sadly, sliding one arm beneath Harry's neck, tugging his head forward onto his chest, and wrapping the other around his hip to pull him into his grasp.  Tears pricked behind Harry's eyes as he nuzzled instinctively into Lou's chest, feeling so incredible vulnerable and weak.  He hadn't cried too often on the show so far.  He had shed a few hearty tears at boot camp, when he had thought he was going back to Holmes Chapel, and he had become a bit blubbery in Spain while the lot had been waiting for Simon's vote, but both times, he had had someone there to comfort him, and that someone happened to be Louis.  Louis had been the one to open his arms and reassure Harry that everything was lost, and he would do the same now, as Harry struggled for confidence.  

Sighing sadly through his nose, his shoulders curled beneath Louis's comforting arms, and his forehead pressed into the soft, fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat of Lou's skin beneath. He knew that most friends wouldn't act in such ways, that even the other three lads would find this scene odd, but Harry and Louis weren't like other friends.  They were far too close to be considered so, and Harry found himself grateful rather than embarrassed.  A friend like Lou was found once in a lifetime, and he had popped up in Harry's life when he had needed him most.  

"Harry, this is a tough competition.  No one, not even Bradford Bad-boy Zayn, could get through this without showing their soft side at least once.  Don't you dare feel like you're not worth it, Haz, because you are, a million times over," Louis whispered, his hand running across Harry's back in soft, gentle circles.  At his words, emotion swelled in Harry's chest.  The fact that Louis thought so much of him, and believed in him like that...He couldn't describe how wonderful that felt.  He was terrified at the idea of singing his solo, elated with what Louis was telling him, and ashamed that he should need to hear those things in the first place.  Above all, however, he felt grateful- grateful that he had walked into that arena however many months ago and spoken to the boy in the bathroom.  

"Thank you, Lou, Harry mumbled into the soft fabric of Louis's scarf.  "Thank...Thank you."  

"Hey, what are friends for?" Louis smiled, pulling back slightly to smile into Harry's face, those sky blue eyes twinkling as they always did when Louis was feeling content with world, and he planted a playful kiss on Harry's head.  Harry felt his cheeks burn with mingled embarrassment and bliss, so, so happy to have a friend like Louis.  He sighed peacefully as Louis wrapped his arms around Harry once more, squeezing him into a tight hug that sent warmth whizzing through Harry's head.

"Are you feeling alright now?" Louis murmured gently against Harry's curls.  

"I think so," Harry muttered, reluctant to go back on-stage and explain to Simon what he was going through.  No one would understand like Lou did.  

"Here's what's gonna happen. I'm gonna teasingly insult you about your four nipples, even if they are undeniably sexy, and then we'll hug because it's cheesy and cliche. Then, you're gonna get your fabulous ass out there on stage and sing your heart out. Sound good?" Harry blinked slowly, recovering and sighing deeply, running a hand warily through his hair. 

"I guess you're the dominant one here," he joked, and Louis grinned. 

"Right, then! Let's get started. Harry, your two extra man nipples make you half human." And with that, he opened his arms and attacked Harry in his signature leap-and-tackle hug, grinning crazily as Harry stumbled backwards, slightly surprised before he smiled over Lou's shoulder. He felt a bit comforted as the serious air morphed into the usual goofy, completely carefree and mischievous air that usually followed Louis around like a puppy, spreading around him and affecting anyone within a ten-yard radius. That was just the thing about Lou; whether he was silly and crazed- and to be honest, that was quite, quite often- or serious and heartfelt, as he had been with Harry in the past few minutes, he always, always managed to bring people up, no matter just how down they were feeling. Harry was no exception, and he knew it. 

"I'm ready." Harry smiled as he pulled back from Louis's grasp looking his best friend in the eyes. Louis nodded, a gleeful smile stretching across his baby pink lips. 

"You always were," he said with a shrug, so easily that Harry's eyes softened slightly, touched by just how much hope Lou had for him. No one, not even Gemma or mum had been so faithful towards his talent. The fact that at least one person in this planet actually thought he had full potential as a performer... It was amazing. "Let's go, my fine-ass, four-tittied friend," Louis grinned.

"Oh, like you're one to talk," Harry snickered, playfully smacking Louis's backside and causing Louis to yelp slightly and turn pink with embarrassment as he laughed.  As they wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders and stomped playfully down the hallway singing "Lean on Me," It slowly dawned on Harry that Louis was the one person he knew would always, always be there for him.  

"Lean on me when you're not strong, and I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on; for it won't be long 'till I'm gonna need somebody to lean on!" They sang loudly, Harry's husky, boyish voice harmonizing with the sweet, smooth melody of Louis's, and they grinned sappily at each other as they headed down the hallway.  

"You can always lean on me.  You know that, right, Haz?" Louis asked quietly, smiling slightly as he looked into Harry's face with those piercing shards of green.  

"I could never forget it," Harry chuckled, grinning widely as his arm tightened around Louis's shoulder.  He didn't bother to be discrete, as he might have with the others lads or with girls.  He simply lifted his fingers in the air and gave Louis's cheek a short, quick brush, loving the feeling of Lou's tanned skin on his.  He didn't know why.  

Maybe it was because Louis always seemed to be so warm, whether it was stiflingly hot or they were in Antarctica--Louis was always warm and comfortable.  Maybe it was the matter that every touch, Louis's cheeks flooded with colour, and Harry liked the fact that he, plain old Harry Styles, could have that affect on a person, that maybe he was a little more important than he had originally believed.  Maybe it was just because Harry simply...needed him.  

He needed Louis, there was no point denying it.  Whether that need was a friendly one, or a brotherly one, or even a mutual one, he didn't know.  All he knew was that as long as Louis was there, everything would be okay in the end.   

 

 

⤞✧⤝

 

 

Harry's eyes focused tightly on the clock sitting above the door of the greenroom.  It seemed as if the seconds of his career were ticking away on that clock, and all too quickly.  

"Harry?  Harry, are you with us?"  Harry swallowed dryly, his lips pursing as he turned to face Savan.  

"Yeah," he croaked, his voice cracking slightly.  

"You don't look too fabulous," Savan noted, scanning Harry worriedly with those sharp eyes.  "Haz, are you sure you can go through with this?"  Harry nodded determinedly.  He was, as Louis had so formally put it, going to 'get his fabulous ass out there and sing his heart out.'   _For Lou,_  he thought, his eyes squeezing shut tightly as his teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek, forcing the nerves back.  They were wriggling like apple of snakes at the pit of his stomach, and it was beginning to dawn on harry that they would be rising in his chest very soon.  

"Harry, please, don't do anything you're not ready for," Niall said firmly, his wide blue eyes filled with concern for his mate, and he patted Harry gently on the shoulder.  

Well, when put that way, the answer to Harry's problem was obvious.  He was more unprepared for this solo than he had ever been for anything in his life.  He was not even to close to ready to stand on that stage, pick up that microphone, and sing "My Life Would Suck" to a live audience of billions of people across the world.  It had all been very well during his live audition, for that had not been live, and no one had seen his performance until he and the lads were off to the X-House.  His boot camp and Judges' House performances were no different.  

But this...This required an entirely new level of bravery.  He had no reason to fear this.  Liam and Zayn hadn't had such nerves when they had sung 'Viva La Vida.'  Hell, even Niall looked confident up on that stage, and this is concerning a boy who jumps at the sight of his own shadow.  Harry had never felt so...Weak.  Nor had he ever felt so torn.  When considering things from Niall's perspective, it made sense to botch the shebang right then and there and let Liam take his solo.  But he had made a promise to Louis.  What would he do if Louis lost faith in him?  Would he lose Louis as a friend, a confidant?  It..It couldn't happen.  Harry  _needed_  him.  

"Sav, do you mind if I have a quick word with Harry?" Niall asked, gripping his lower lip in his teeth as he always did when he was focused, and Harry glanced up, a sheen of sweat covering his face, to see Niall's eyes focused intently on his, his eyebrows high with scrutiny.  

"Sure, but I'm gonna need an answer in less than one hundred and twenty seconds," Savan said darkly, tapping the face of his watch.  Harry gulped as he hurried off to tell Louis, who was dancing around the dressing room with no shirt on, to shape up and put on his polo.  He was distracted as Niall put a hand on his shoulder, turning him away from the Doncaster lad.  

"Harry, I told you not to do anything you're not ready for," he said, slightly reproachfully.  

"I know," Harry whispered, afraid to speak.  "I heard--"  

"You don't understand.  You and I both know, despite your amazing, amazing voice, that you aren't ready."  Harry's teeth clenched behind his lips, and his throat tightened as embarrassment bubbled in his chest.  It was bad enough that Niall suspected this. The fact that one of his own team mates did not have faith in him was heart wrenching.  But the worst part was, Harry knew he was right.  He couldn't do it.  "Harry, you need to focus on you and your ability, not what promises you made anyone," Niall continued, biting his lip as he looked Harry in the eye.  Harry's eyebrows furrowed.  What was he... "I'm sure Louis will understand," Niall added quietly.  At this, Harry's eyes widened.  How did he know?  He hadn't listened in on their talk, had he?  "No, I didn't, although I'm wishing I had," Niall laughed, and Harry silently cursed himself for his nasty habit of speaking aloud.  "I didn't need to hear it, Haz.  I see the way you two are together, and I can see that you would do anything for him." Harry's pale face slowly turned pink as he listened to Niall speak, and the Irish boy smiled slightly as he watched his reaction.  

"What are you...Are you saying...  That Louis... Louis and I...No! No. That's...that's just not how...How things are."  The corner of Niall's mouth gave a slight twitch as a familiar exasperation crept into his face.  "Louis's my best mate, Niall, no offence to you and the others, of course, but what we've got...We're just close.  And I'm grateful for that."  Harry watched with vague irritation as Niall's eyebrows shot up with amusement at the words "Best Mates."  

"No!  You know what, I know what you're thinking," Harry went on, growing frantic at the prospect of someone questioning the bond he and Louis shared.  "And I may not be sure about a lot of things, Nialler, but I am positive that I don't have feelings for Louis." Yet, even as he spoke, Harry felt a vague, dreadful uncertainty rising in his gut.  

 _No,_ he thought.  He did not like Louis that way....Right?  Right?   _Right._   Harry folded his arms stubbornly across his chest, and Niall sighed slightly.  

"Okay, Harry, I'm sorry.  Just remember," he began, a very knowing tone in his voice.  "It's one thing to lie to others, but lying to yourself is when life begins to take wrong turns."  Harry's throat clenched painfully as he absorbed what Niall had just said.  Was he lying to himself about Lou?  

 _No,_ he though anxiously.  He couldn't be.  What he and Louis had...Yes, it was special.  Yes, it was far different than any other friendship in the history of friendships.  Yes, it was more important to Harry than any relationship he had ever had with any girl before.  But just because their friendship was beyond whatever he had felt in the past, it didn't mean that he had  _feelings_ for him.  It just...It couldn't.  It would ruin everything. 

Well, Niall was certainly right about one thing- he was lying to himself if he said he was ready for this solo.  As Niall's gaze quickly roamed Harry's face, he gave  tiny nod, shaping his hands around Harry's shoulders.  

"I'll go tell Liam about the change in plan," he said quietly, giving Harry an understanding look before tugging him into a tight, friendly grasp, rubbing his back gently.  

"Okay," Harry choked, his voice cracking once more as his chin rested on Niall's shoulder.  "Okay."  

"Shh, Haz, there' nothing to be ashamed of," Niall murmured gently, pulling back and giving Harry one last smile before clapping on the shoulder and strolling quickly over to Zayn to inform him of his new solo.  Somehow, Niall's comfort did not nearly match the inexplicable condolence of Louis's.  Yeah, Niall had his moments- While he was usually a clueless, carefree, happy-go-lucky little leprechaun, he no doubt had the ability to see things that other did not, and, as Harry thought grudgingly, give amazing pep talks.  

However, while Louis had left Harry feeling content and happy with the world, Niall's words had only left a bubbling shame churning in his gut, and a guilty uneasiness running through his system.  Niall was amazing, there was no doubt about that, but somehow, he just couldn't comfort Harry like Louis could.  A dim realisation flooded Harry's mind as he glanced at the Doncaster boy, now laughing wildly as he told one of the stylists his Fun-Gi joke, and he became very gradually aware that no one would ever match up to Lou.  

 _Oh, Louis,_ Harry thought, dread filling his chest.   _Please forgive me._   

 

 

⤞✧⤝


	15. Cold Coffee

⤞✧⤝

 

Cold. 

Harry was so  _cold._

He felt strange, in that moment, as if were isolated; solitary;  _alone._

Lids dragged heavily over his eyes, his lashes fluttered gently against his cheekbones, and an admittedly horridly unattractive groan uttered from his lips. 

 _Oh, real nice,_ he thought sarcastically to himself through his incredibly drowsy state.  Where was he? 

As one of his arms flung wildly through the space surrounding him, his limb was restrained by something taught and soft, something thick.  As he grew limp once more, he relaxed into something cool and cushy, and he realised that, of course, he was lying in the bed of his bunk. 

What time was it, and what had caused him to wake so suddenly? 

Finally mustering the effort to peel his eyes open, he groaned again and allowed his vision to focus hazily on the darkness surrounding him.  His eyes darted slowly and mechanically towards the window set against the creamy wall, and as the pale, weak light of the full moon contrasted with the inky blackness of the night, filtering into the room, he realised that it must be quite late. 

As the groan died from his lips and silence fell over the space, he realised that a dim patter of rain was echoing gently across the rooftop, easing the entire house into a soothing oblivion.  He sighed quietly through his nose, blinking slowly up at the popcorn ceiling of the room and allowing his muscles to relax into the mattress as he prepared to let himself slip into sleep once more. 

He closed his eyes slowly, that familiar wave of drowsiness slowly settling upon him. 

_“Hazza.”_

By Harry’s reaction, one would have thought that a nuclear warhead had just detonated beneath him, for a wild gasp sounded roughly from his lips as his eyes flew open and he jumped spasmodically atop the mattress, and suddenly, he found himself hopelessly tangled while he thrashed spasmodically in the bedsheets. 

“Gee, Haz, calm down,” a familiar, sweet voice chuckled quietly, barely more than a whisper, and as Harry realised who the voice belonged to, he slowly had the sense to bring his flailing limbs to a shaking halt.  Eyes wider than golfballs, he sat slowly up, bound by the knotted blankets, and swallowed as his gaze lit upon the owner of the voice. 

Almost immediately, any panic or fear he may have experienced—and that was quite a lot, mind you—seemed to begin to seep from his body, and his wildly thudding heart reduced its speed to a light, quick beat. 

A very disheveled and sleepy-looking Louis was clinging shyly to the ladder of his bunk, and to Harrry’s surprise, he had never looked…well, smaller.  His delicate features cast tiny, feminine shadows across his gentle face, and his wide, innocent blue eyes glinted slightly in the moonlight drifting from the window. 

He was, of course, bedecked in nothing but a pair of boxers and one of Harry’s Abercrombie tee-shirts, one that was far too large for Louis’s slender frame and hung loosely around his arms and neck.  His thick, caramel-coloured hair was an impossible mess and seemed to be sticking out in every direction, its shape quite similar to that of a crumpled piece of parchment.  As he gazed guiltily up at the shocked Harry, amusement hiding behind his eyes, he bit his lip.

“God, Lou…You can’t  _scare_ me like that,” Harry panted, struggling to keep his voice quiet lest one of the other three awoke, and he placed a palm over his rapidly beating heart as he collapsed upon the pillows. 

“Sorry,” Louis giggled, obviously quite pleased with himself. 

“What did you need, love?” Harry asked vaguely, his voice still breathless with alarm as he struggled to recover from the startle.  As he swallowed, his neck bobbing slightly against the support of his pillow, he waited, and realised that Louis had fallen silent.  “Lou?” he asked again.

“Could…I…” Louis began, looking more like a child than ever as he gnawed anxiously on his pink lip and began to wring his hands nervously, twisting the fabric of Harry’s shirt around his fingers. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, his voice suddenly sounding quite gentle as compared to the alarmed, harsh resonance it had adapted previously. 

“Well…I’m hungry,” Louis finally admitted, peeking shyly up at the sleepy Harry through his long, silky eyelashes.  “Could you make me a snack?” 

Harry sighed, repressing yet another groan of exasperation as he flopped dramatically onto his pillow, curls flying across his forehead. 

“Blimey,” he muttered groggily, reluctance in his voice as he did not, by any means, want to let the boy down, yet he was so tired... Eyes still blurred with sleep, he elevated his head and craned his neck to scan the small alarm clock sitting on the floor beside Niall’s bed, red letters glowing dully in the dark.  “It’s nearly three in the morning, and you want me to make you a  _snack?_ ”

“Please?” Louis whispered, his voice beginning to slowly rack with panic, and Harry frowned in confusion.  What had Louis so anxious to get something to eat, and why on earth was he so insistent that Harry make it for him?  He had younger sisters; shouldn’t he be used to this sort of thing?

“Boo, it’s late, and I’m tired.  Can’t you…C-can’t you?” Harry’s voice slowly trailed off into a stutter, for as he glanced up, he realised that Louis had crawled quietly over the edge of Harry’s bunk and curled upon the mattress.  That delicate, prominent face, lined with worry and innocence, was mere inches from his.  “Can’t…Cant you…I mean…” as those wide, almond-shaped eyes, now tinged with green and shadowed by the dark of the night widened with anxiety, Harry’s mind seemed to go blank. 

What was he asking again?  He couldn’t…What had they been talking about? 

“Please, Hazza?  Please?” Louis whimpered, his lower lip trembling as his fingers edged nervously across the mattress and began to curl around Harry’s.  Harry’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and his breath hitched in his chest as Louis’s skin brushed his—most likely a reaction from the sudden warmth, Harry assumed.  He didn’t bother questioning it; there was something unbelievably comforting and soothing about Louis’s touch.  There always had been. 

“For me?” Louis added in a soft whine, and Harry blinked, lips parted.

“Yeah,” replied slowly, not quite sure of what he was responding to anymore.  “Yeah, of course…”

“Really?” Louis whispered eagerly, the most adorable gleam of hope lighting in those eyes, and Harry repressed a find chuckle.  “You’ll make me a snack?”

“Sure, I…Wait, what?” Harry said, frowning as he snapped suddenly from whatever strange lapse of concentration he’d undergone, and he blinked rapidly.  When on earth had he agreed to  _that?_

He really wasn’t in the mood to crawl out of his comfortable bed and walk across the cold floors of the kitchen in the middle of the night to prepare a snack. 

“I…Oh, Lou, alright.” He sighed as Louis’s eyes gazed hopefully up at him.  How on earth could he resist a face like  _that?_

He shook his head, rolling his eyes in amusement as a smile as bright as the sun lit Louis’s lips, and he scurried anxiously down the ladder to allow Harry to climb out of the bunk. 

“The things I do for you,” Harry was grumbling as he slid clumsily to the floor, wincing as his elbow was smacked by the wood. 

“Mmh,” a familiar, Irish voice sighed distantly from one corner of the room, and as Harry’s head turned, the sleeping form of Niall released his usual stream of senseless babble, lips moving vaguely around meaningless nonsense.  Louis giggled as he began scurrying towards the door, and Harry smiled reluctantly, tiptoeing across the carpet and stepping round piles of dirty socks. 

“Why on earth do you want a snack at this hour?” Harry mumbled groggily as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, his lips smacking slightly as he yawned.  “You ate all your supper.”

“You would know,” Louis whispered with a small laugh.  “You  _fed_ me.”

“That’s what you get for tickling me,” Harry grinned, and Louis giggled, a mischievous smile on his lips. 

“Maybe I should tickle you more often, no?” he teased, skittering across the hallway to dig his fingers into Harry’s sides.  

“N-no!” Harry squeaked, his cheeks aching with the tight grin stretched across his mouth as he struggled to keep his voice down, lest he wake any of the other contestants.  “Not now, Louis!”

Louis scowled heavily, yet a playful, mused pout was lurking behind his eyes.

“I never get you to myself,” he sulked dramatically, huffing as he crossed his arms over his chest and stomped down the hallway.

“Stop that, you sass,” Harry rolled his eyes affectionately, nudging Louis’s arm with his curled fingers as they strolled quietly down the stairs.  “You know I’m all yours.” He added teasingly, a shy glint in his eye.  He expected Louis to reply cunningly, a laugh in his voice, yet nothing but silence filled the air Harry’s lips closed. 

He turned, wondering if he’d upset Lou somehow, but as his eyes landed on the blue-eyed boy, he realised that a wide, quiet grin had settled over his mouth, and he’d pursed his lips in an effort to repress the expression.  Harry smiled slightly in reply, biting his lip, and his cheeks warmed slightly.  He always grew flustered whenever he pleased Louis; anyone would.  There was something highly satisfying and gratifying about knowing that he was making the Doncaster boy happy. 

“What are you hungry for?” he yawned with a whisper as the two of them padded into the large kitchen, wincing slightly as their bare feet touched the cold tile. 

“What do you mean, what am I—Oh, yeah,” Louis stuttered in confusion before realisation flooded his face, and he turned red.  “Hungry.  Right.” 

“Erm, everything okay?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing as he glanced suspiciously towards Louis, who nodded quickly. 

“Sure.  Uh…Do we have any Boobears?”

“Lou,” Harry said slowly.  “You ask me to make you a snack, yet you’re hungry for pre-packaged fruit snacks that require  _no_ preparation whatsoever?  Do you need my help to open the bag, or something?” Harry asked slowly, growing increasingly confused with Louis’s actions.  Louis giggled, turning pinker still, and rolled his eyes.

“Frankly, Harold, I’m offended,” he sniffed, sticking his nose in the air loftily.  “Some people have great difficulty with these kinds of strenuous tasks.”

“Oh, yeah,  _strenuous,_ ” Harry rolled his eyes with a smile as he padded towards the cupboard to grab a packet of fruitsnacks.  “Opening a package, what a spine-bending activity.”

“I know!” Louis nodded, mock-seriousness coating his face, and Harry chuckled, tossing the snacks into the older boy’s lap. 

“Eat up, you, I’m tired.”

“Whatever you say, your majesty,” Louis raised his eyebrows with a challenging curl of his lips, and Harry smirked, repressing a yawn.  

“C’mon, you’re dawdling.  Hurry up!” he took the package from Louis’s hands, tearing the material, and scooped a handful of the bear-shaped gummies into his palm before pressing them sloppily to Louis’s chin and lips.

“Mmph!” Louis protested, his voice muffled, and Harry grinned, his tongue between his teeth.  “Hazza, no!” he laughed, turning his face from Harry’s large palm, and the gummies tumbled into his lap.  Harry tutted disapprovingly.

“Tsk, tsk, wasting food, are we?  Such a shame, Lou, honestly…” He playfully snatched the fruitsnacks from the wrinkles of Louis’s boxers and the crease of his tee shirt, wiggling them teasingly before Louis’s mouth.  Louis beamed before parting his lips and allowing Harry to slip the gummy over his tongue.  He wrinkled his nose, dissatisfied.

“Ew, that was a yellow one.  I don’t like those.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, glancing through the gummies in his palm and scooping up the red ones—ones he knew to be Louis’s favourite.  “Here, you like cherry, don’t you?” he asked, poking the scarlet Boobear through Louis’s lips, and Louis giggled, nodding to himself.

“My favourite!” he chirped happily, and Harry chuckled.  “Which Boobear is your favourite, Hazza?” Louis added curiously, eying the different gummies in Harry’s palm.  Harry paused, considering, before he grinned.

“This one,” he smiled, leaning forward to muss Louis’s silky, caramel-coloured hair affectionately.  “ _You’re_ my favourite Boobear, of course.” 

“I know,” Louis giggled, ducking his face slightly and tucking his chin into his chest as he blushed, and Harry grinned, thrilled that he could induce such a reaction in another person—or, more specifically, that he could induce such a reaction in  _Louis._ There was something undeniably gratifying about putting a smile on the boy’s lips.  When Louis was happy, Harry was happy.   Harry didn’t know it, but if asked, Louis would have said the same thing about the curly-haired lad. 

The two fo them sat there, their laughter quiet and their blushing faces red with amusement, for many moments while Harry teasingly poked fruit snacks through Louis’s lips and Louis childishly batted his hands away every few seconds.  Harry began to grow increasingly drowsy as the peaceful sound of rain rose in volume, pattering ceaselessly against the roof and sending a smooth, unbreaking rhythm rocking through his head. 

“You falling asleep on me, Hazza?” Louis teased him in a quiet whisper, his warm breath and voice suddenly inches from Harry’s ear, and suddenly, he was wide awake once more. 

“Not a chance, Boobear,” he smiled sleepily, although he yawned all the same, his red lips stretching in a wide, silent “O,” and Louis laughed, rolling his eyes and resting his forehead against Harry’s temple.  Harry’s lips pursed and tautened against his cheeks as he struggled to repress the bashful, delighted smile he always seemed to wear whenever Louis behaved so affectionately with him.  He bit his lip, eyes shining, and struggled to force the blush back from his cheeks. 

“Are you finished?” he said, his voice lowering to a soft, thick whisper.  He didn’t need to speak so loudly; not when his lips were grazing his earlobe, not when each and every ounce of Louis’s attention was focused entirely upon the curly haired boy before him.  “Can we go back to bed?”

“I…I suppose…” Louis sighed, his eyes darting slowly back and forth.  Harry smiled, rising silently from his seat and letting his fingers curl carefully around Louis’s forearms to lift him to his feet.

He glanced upwards as he did so, and he suddenly noticed that the smattering of rain hitting the roof had increased in volume and power.  The thud of raindrop after raindrop upon the house ahd faded into his ears as he and Louis had giggled like the silly teenagers they were, but now the full rush of rain echoed throughout his head.  It really was coming down quite hard.  He wondered anxiously if it would bother Louis at all—

Harry’s face contorted with shock as Louis suddenly emitted a fearful whimper, his eyes widening as a crack of lightning sounded beyond the window.  The next moment, Harry was toppling backwards slightly as Louis pummeled into his arms, gnawing on his lower lip and winding his fingers around Harry’s.

“Louis,” Harry breathed, startled by the boy’s jump or surprise, and as Louis began to shiver nervously against his chest, Harry’s eyes softened.

Louis hadn’t been hungry; he hadn’t wanted a snack.  He was simply growing wary of the threatening rain thundering upon the roof, and he’d turned to Harry for comfort. 

“Oh, Boo, it’s okay,” he sighed gently, and he hesitantly wove his fingers through Louis’s silky hair, knowing the action would soothe him.  To his relief, Louis’s shuddering began to dull, and he sniffled pathetically against Harry’s chest.  “I won’t let anything hurt you, all right?”

“Promise?” Louis whispered, hit lower lip clamped between his teeth and his green eyes wide.  Harry turned slightly red; this was more of an intimate situation than he thought he’d find himself in that night.

“Of course,” he muttered shyly.  Why would Louis ever need to ask?  “C’mon," he continued, stuggling to keep his voice from shaking as his blood began to beat ever so slightly faster in his wrist.  He wrapped his fingers through Louis's, clutching his warm palm tightly to assure him that he was not about to let go anytime soon.  

He wondered if the Doncaster boy could feel the rhythm of his pulse beneath his skin.  He wondered if Louis knew, somehow and for some strange reason that far beyond anything within Harry's capacity of understanding,  _he_ was the reason for Harry's sudden rush of heartbeat.

"Let's get some sleep, love."

 

⤞✧⤝

 

 “Again.” 

Harry blinked, frowning slightly in disbelief as he turned his head to gape at the Doncaster boy.  Louis wore a small, mellow smile on his lips, his lashes fluttering lazily as they lay in the last of the October sun.  The two of them were spread lazily across the drying lawn of the X House, attempting to absorb the last bit of summer heat they would see for the rest of the year.  

It had been a long week for the boys.  They had, by now, been in the competition for three amazing shows, each more successful and more exhilarating than the last.  Their last show, a performance of  _Nobody Knows,_ had been Harry's favourite, but it had been a stressful weeks, full of disapproving tuts from Simon and frustrated sighs from the vocal producers.  They'd had to change the song of the performance at the last minute, and now, each of the boys was feeling distinctly exhausted from the strain of the past few days.  

Zayn was spending the afternoon taking a nap in his bunk after firmly informing anyone that if they bothered him, he would  _"bloody castrate the lot of them._ _"_ Niall, the poor thing, had suffered a minor mental breakdown after waking from a particularly traumatizing night terror that morning to find that no one had bothered to cook breakfast; so Liam had tucked him into one of the cars and taken him to a MacDonald's as quickly as he could.  

Harry and Louis, both tired but in mellow spirits, had decided to wind down by simply relaxing in the outdoors and soaking up as much Vitamin D as they could before the winter months brought eternal cold and clouds.  Louis, bored out of his mind and slightly restless, had demanded- not too lightly- that Harry entertain him and unwind him by singing each and every song that popped into the Doncaster boy's head; an idea that was not doing much for Harry's embarrassment and self-consciousness.  

"Again," Louis repeated, somewhat impatiently as Harry fell silent, yawning quietly in the late sunlight.  

“Again?” Harry asked, chucking slightly.  “No way, no how.  I’m only singing once.” 

“Okay, go ahead,” Louis murmured cheekily, still smiling cunningly as he rested his chin on his folded hands and let himself melt into the grass. 

“Lou!” Harry exclaimed indignantly, now grinning.  “You’ve already made me sing.  I’m not singing to you anymore.”  Louis was quiet for a moment, eyes fluttering thoughtfully, before he silently turned his head and rested his cheek upon his hands, gazing up at Harry. 

“Please?” he murmured lazily.  “Pretty, pretty please?”

“Lou,” Harry groaned, and Louis grinned, knowing Harry would never deny him anything.  So, he simply lay in the grass, smiling and allowing his gaze to flicker up to Harry ever couple of seconds, wondering when he would snap.  Finally…

“Fine,” Harry huffed reluctantly.  “I’ll sing to you.”

“I know,” Louis smiled, chin bobbing against his hand as he spoke, and he vaguely heard Harry grumbling to himself. 

“What do you want to hear?” Harry sighed reluctantly, and Louis’s eyes lit. 

“That one by the Beatles," Louis began eagerly, "About...What was it, about anytime…”

“ _Anytime At All_?” Harry smiled, his tongue between his teeth as he slowly sunk from his sitting position to lay on his stomach in the drying grass.  He winced as a few stray strands of the yellowing plant poked his arms and hands. 

“Yeah,” Louis grinned, his blue eyes alight with serenity as they fluttered sleepily in the sun, and Harry rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, that's the one.  I like that one."

“Anytime at all, all you gotta do is call...” Harry began to croon playfully under his breath, teasing Louis slightly as he giggled, and Louis batted playfully at his hand. 

“Keep going, you idiot,” he whined, and Harry chuckled, their pinkies brushing against each other every so often as they moved and jumped in the grass.  He wondered if Louis noticed; if his stomach was feeling as fluttery as Harry’s….

“Not with that attitude,” Harry mocked him, his eyebrows rising across his forehead as he grinned, and Louis sighed, smiling.  “Give me one good reason why I should keep singing for you.”

“Because I love your voice,” Louis jumped in without hesitation, his shoulders rotating awkwardly in the grass as he shrugged, and the movement send a small, barely-noticeable draft of Louis’s familiar shampoo drifting to Harry’s nose. 

Harry smiled; he liked how Louis smelled—How his  _shampoo_ smelled.  It was nice, like honey and pine.  Maybe that was why he found himself using it so often when he showered…Louis never minded.  He would simply pause to sniff confusedly at Harry’s curls, eyebrows wrinkling with familiarity, before realisation would dawn upon his face, and he would blush. 

 _“You don’t have to use my shampoo, Haz,”_ He’d mutter shyly with a smile.   _“Besides, I like yours anyway.”_ And then, Harry would blush, and an entire round of bashful giggles and teasing would begin, much to the annoyance of anyone else in the room. 

“You love my voice?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose.  Louis sent him a strange look from the corner of those blue eyes.

“Just how many times have I told you that?” he asked, as if questioning Harry’s sanity, and as Louis rolled his eyes fondly, Harry could see he was mocking him. 

Harry was a very, very sensitive person—it was a bit ridiculous, really, but the fact remained that the smallest insults, whether they be teasings or not, could get him in a huff, and had any of the other boys been mocking him the way Louis was now, he might have been upset. 

But this was  _Louis,_ and as in every other situation to ever exist, he was the single exception.  It was okay if Louis teased him.   It was okay if Louis mocked him, because Harry would always remember that, for some unknown reason, Louis cared about him, that he held some sort of unique, inexplicable adoration for him- one that, might Harry mention, was wholeheartedly returned by the curly-haired lad.  It was strange, and it was confusing—because Harry could not understand for the life of him why someone as amazing as Louis would ever spend his time with a person like Harry—but he was grateful, because without Louis, Harry wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with his life.

Without Louis, there was no One Direction.  There might have been a Liam, a Harry, a Niall, and a Zayn, but  _there would be no Louis,_ and that right there would have been a problem for Harry.  He needed his Louis.

“C’mon.  Go ahead,” Louis coaxed him, his voice light and sleepy in the sunlight, and Harry sighed, opening his lips to sing again.

"Anytime at all, all you gotta do is call and I'll be there..." he began, grinning as he purposefully made his voice sound as horribly as he could, and Louis shot him a bored look, giggling and slapping his arm.  

" _Really,_ _"_ he whined like a five year old, smacking Harry once more, and Harry winced, grinning, as Louis's fingers splayed scoldingly across the bare skin fo his forearm.

Except, when he had finished telling Harry off with a small slap, he didn't move his hand.

Harry bit his lip, suddenly feeling quite shaky as Louis's fingers curled instinctively around his wrist, tracing small lines across his skin, ticklish and warm.  He swallowed, willing himself to keep his arm from twitching or trembling under Louis's touch, because the last he wanted was for Louis to move away.

"Why do you want me to sing for you?" Harry asked again, and Louis huffed, rolling his eyes in frustration.

"We  _just_ went over this, like two seconds ago." he groaned.

"No,  _really,"_ Harry pressed intently, and as Louis tilted his head upon his arms to see Harry gazing over at him, his green eyes wide and his lower lip clamped between his teeth, he realised that Harry wasn't kidding.  He really didn't understand why Louis adored his voice.  

"You really don't get it, do you?" he asked in mild surprise, shifting slightly to angle himself towards Harry.  The boy shook his head, eyebrows furrowed.  "I like your voice because it's not like anything I've ever heard before," Louis explained, a soft, matter-of-fact tone filling his mouth as he shrugged.  "I dunno.  You could sing about...bloody  _paperwork_ and make it worth listening to."

At this, Harry giggled, a nervous blush coating his dimpled, peachy cheeks, and Louis grinned, biting his lip and burying his face shyly in his arms, his fingers still curled around Harry's wrist.  

"And...er, even if you couldn't..." he continued, his voice suddenly growing slower and lower over the close conversation.  "I'd still promise you that you were wonderful."

"That's dishonest," Harry mumbled with a small smile.  "Why would you do that?"

"Because it would make you happy," Louis shrugged, his lip now a bitten mess beneath his teeth. "I like making you happy," he added in a smaller, timid voice- one that was not often heard from the mouth of Louis Tomlinson.

"Why?" Harry asked blankly, as if he could not for the life of him understand why someone would want make him feel happy.

"Why wouldn't I?" Louis asked, frowning slightly.  "When you're happy, it's great.  Your face lights up like a kid's on Christmas," he giggled, and Harry bit back a smile, his cheeks positively glowing.  "Your eyes look like fucking stars.  It makes  _me_ happy."

Harry didn't reply.  He simply stared searchingly into Louis's face, his mouth and nose hidden by his forearm and his green eyes wide as they peered past the sleeve of his jacket.  Louis's cheeks were now incredibly red, and a strange fluttering seemed to have ignited in the pit of his stomach. His fingers, which had been running in small, sub-conscious circles across Harry's skin, froze, hesitant to move or to touch.

This...This entire freidnship he shared with Harry...

Well, Harry was right.  Whatever it was, it was not  _normal._ And yet, however confusing it may have made Louis, he loved it, and he was thankful.  He wasn't about to question something that made him happier than he could ever remember being before.

So he didn't. He simply bit his lip and let his eyelashes flutter shyly against his cheekbones, feeling Harry's gaze crawling his face.  As the moments ticked by and the sun sank just the smallest bit lower in the sky, he assumed that perhaps they would lie in peaceful, comfortable silence until they were called, or until it became to chilly to remain outdoors, but suddenly....

A familiar, wonderful sound filled his ears, and as he glanced up, he realised that Harry's lips were moving.  He was  _singing,_ and to  _him_. 

_Wow._

It wasn't that Harry hadn't sung for Louis before; he had done so on multiple occasions.  It was just such a strange thing that every time it happened, Louis found himself awed by the occurrence.

A voice like  _that_ wasn't to be wasted, and the fact that Harry was devoting it Louis was...Well.

"Any time at all, all you've gotta do is call and I'll be there," Harry was murmuring, his lips working the words lazily and his voice trailing into a soft, thick undertone, dipping and trailing in all the right places, both rough and silky in all the right moments.  Louis let his eyes flutter shut, willing himself to keep quiet.  He didn't want to miss a moment of Harry's voice.

"If the sun has faded away, I'll try to make it shine; there's nothing I won't do.  If you need a shoulder to cry on, I hope it will be mine." Harry continued to sing, almost thoughtlessly as his mouth moved around the memorised words, etched into his mind from tracks of his childhood.  Apparently, they'd been a part of Louis's life too, and now they were a part of both.

 "Anytime at all," Louis breathed, his voice shaking slightly as a weak giggle fell from his lips, and Harry beamed, eyes wide and soft.

"Anytime at all," he echoed quietly, a small, childish smile on his own mouth as he bit his lip. 

That was all Louis needed to hear.

Cheeks suddenly warm and his fingertips shaking, Louis hid his face shyly in his arms, his nose nuzzled into the soft material of his cardigan.  Biting his lip and smiling into the crook of his elbow, he opened his mouth and whispered, just loudly enough for Harry to hear, "Again."

Harry fell silent for a minute, gaping in disbelief, before he blinked, recovering, and laughed.  Louis peeked over his arm to see the younger boy run his hand through those damned curls.  He shook his head slowly before resting his chin upon his forearms and angling his gaze towards Louis, who hastily bit back the shy grin tugging at his mouth and buried his face in his arms once more.

"What do want to hear now?" Harry asked gently, voice suddenly falling to an impossibly soft and low murmur, and Louis smiled into his sleeves.

The two of them lay in the grass, cast into golden light and shadow by the sinking sun, as Louis mumbled his requests and Harry laughed exasperatedly before closing his eyes and crooning to Louis the music of his choice.  Harry lost count of how many songs he'd sung, or how many hours he and Louis had been lying there together, alone.   All he knew was that, a moment later, his eyelashes were fluttering and something slender and warm was lifting him into the air.

Confusion seeped through his mind as he blinked groggily to realise that darkness had fallen over the lawn, and his surroundings were flushed in the pale, dim light filtering through the sky and from the moon.  He might have wondered where he was or who was carrying him, but a moment later, his eyes had slid shut once more, and his head was being clouded with sleep.

It was not until he awoke the next morning, gray light dawning the boys' quiet room, that he realised that he must have fallen asleep in the grass, and that Louis had helped him gently back to bed.

 

 

⤞✧⤝ 

 


	16. Where We Land

❡❡❡

 

Niall really didn't understand.

He didn't understand the naivety Harry was expressing and the cluelessness emanating from Louis every hour of the day. It was mind-boggling, really, the way every single person on the planet seemed to see it but the very two people at the center of it all. It didn't make sense. It was all too coincidental, and all too ironic.

He wasn't the only one to notice; of course he wasn't. Anyone with eyes and ears could see it- For crying out loud, Helen Keller probably would have been able to notice simply by being in the same room with the two of them. Why in the name of all that was Irish and delicious were the two boys themselves completely oblivious to what was happening?

He couldn't decide whether to be amused or annoyed as he rolled over noisily across the thick, small mattress of his bunk, freckled nose wrinkling slightly as the hot sheets clung to his skin.

Well, the sheets weren't the only thing bothering him in that moment. The uncomfortable humidity of the room was the last thing on his mind as the obnoxious, familiar hum of hushed voices resonated in his ears from across the room, once in awhile intercepted by a breathy, stifled giggle or a shy hum of approval.

As Niall rolled onto his back, his eyebrows furrowing and his lower lip jutting forward into a childish pout, he folded his arms over his chest, torn between feeling grumpy and delighted. Blinking silently up at the underside of the bunk where Liam was resting above him, he wriggled his hand through the thick, warm air and tapped each of his fingers as he mentally counted.

This was...He bit his lip as he frowned and counted the number of days that had gone by since the boys had moved into the X House...The  _forty-fourth_  night that Harry and Louis had kept him up with what Niall liked to call their "Midnight Cuddle Sessions." He wasn't sure how they hadn't yet run out of things to talk about after so many nights and so many hours of whispering and giggling into the morning, and in another instance, he might have been impressed; but now, he was simply cranky.

He huffed with grumpy frustration as he glowered at the underside of the bunk, the lanky panels of wood casting thin, narrow shadows across his forehead and sheets, and waited impatiently for the soft, intimate whispers and murmurs of Harry and Louis to dull to a tolerable volume. Yeah, he understood that the two of them were caught up in one another's undivided attention and the thrill of their strange, unique relationship, and Niall could not possibly be more excited for them, but honestly... He wanted to sleep.

Sighing, he rolled over onto his side, making as much noise as he possibly could in an attempt to alert the boys, once again, that they were not the only two people in the house. It was an illusion that apparently fell over the two of them quite a lot; he couldn't count on both hands and feet the number of times Harry and Lou had gotten so caught up in the presence of one another that they had unintentionally seemed to think that there was no one else around them to observe or to communicate with. Many times, Zayn had had to nudge Louis's pointedly in the back during an interview or a video diary to remind him that there were other people behind the camera as well.

He raised his eyebrows pointedly towards the boys curled upon the mattress together across the room, seemingly completely oblivious to the pair of blue, Irish eyes glaring at them, and they continued to whisper and giggle away, foreheads brushing and fingers fumbling with the hem of the each other's night shirts.

"It's just cool, the way he can gel it like that? I mean, it must take some serious time and commitment, but I really wish I could get my hair to do that..." Harry was whispering wistfully, his temple pressed gently to Louis's as he sent a sad glance towards his fluffy, brunette locks, limp in the dark.

"Why?" Louis murmured quietly in reply, sounding genuinely baffled as he removed his arm from around Harry's waist and carded his fingers wondrously through his curls. "I love your curls. They're so soft..." Niall bit his lip, momentarily distracted from his current grumpiness as he stifled the adoring grin tugging at his mouth; for Harry's blush was visible from here, even through the darkness.

"Besides," Louis whispered, a soft smile on his lips as he leaned forward to rest his forehead lightly against Harry's, their faces mere inches from one another's, and once again, Niall was completely and utterly boggled by their total lack of boundaries. "Does that mean you like Aiden's hair better than mine?" Louis pretended to pout, pushing his lower lip forward in a false sulk, although Niall could see his sharp eyes darting quickly back and forth between Harry's, keenly searching for his answer.

"Never, Boo," Harry laughed, a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon stretching his cheeks, and Louis's blue eyes laughed as they lingered on the dimples denting the younger boy's peachy face. Once again, Niall blinked, shocked as to how these boys dared to call their relationship platonic. Honestly...

It was odd. Sometimes, the two boys were teasing and competitive; always looking to playfully degrade and to succeed the other- Louis mocking Harry's slow mumble and Harry jokingly insulting Louis's feminine cheekbones, all the while casting protective, defensive glares around at anyone else in the vicinity to drive home the point that they were the only two allowed to tease one another.

However, other times- times like now- their relationship was full of soft glances and cheeks stained with shy blushes, accompanied by gentle compliments and encouragements not commonly offered by what someone would call a mere  _friend_ ; and simply being in the same room with them caused another person to feel somewhat suffocated.

"Ahem," Niall coughed quietly, struggling to get over the adorable-ness of the giggling and blushing occurring across the room and trying to catch the two boys' attention. When the only thing to happen was the increase of whispers and murmurs streaming from the boys' lips, Niall groaned with frustration.

"Shh," Niall heard Harry whisper, green eyes wide and innocent as he froze, and Louis bit his lip, his fingers still fiddling with the hem of Harry's sleeve. "I think we might have woken someone up," Harry mumbled guiltily, and Niall snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, really?" he asked loudly, causing the two of them to jump. "You think you  _might_  have woken someone up? What makes you think anyone fell asleep in the first place?"

Harry blinked in shock, mouth hanging open as he gazed apologetically at the disgruntled Niall, but Louis simply grinned widely, smirking.

"Evening, Nialler. To what do we owe the pleasure?" he asked cheekily, and Harry laughed quietly, causing Louis's eyes to brighten slightly. "I would have thought you'd be asleep at this time of night."

"One would think," Niall muttered, although in all honesty, he was struggling to repress a laugh. "This is, like, the gazillionth night you two have kept me up with your giggling."

"Oi! These are not giggles!" Harry interrupted him indignantly. "They happen to be manly chuckles."

"Sure, whatever," Niall rolled his eyes, while Louis sighed, smiling. "Honestly, it's a wonder how anyone in this house can get some shut-eye with you lot here."

"Oh, don't exaggerate," Louis scoffed, smiling affectionately towards Niall as he rolled his eyes. "We're not that bad."

"Yeah, it's not our fault your leprechaun heritage won't let you sleep, Nialler," Harry grinned, eyes flitting hopefully to Louis's face, and to his delight, Louis chuckled with amusement.

"Oh, really?" Niall challenged once more, lifting himself up onto his elbow and craning his neck to peer around his bunk. "How you doing over there, Zayn?"

"Hanging in there, Niall," Zayn replied hoarsely from his bed, his thick with sleep. "Wish this lot would shut up, though," he added, and Niall grinned triumphantly.

"Awe, is Zaynie-kins not getting enough beauty sleep?" Louis cooed, smiling in Zayn's direction, and Zayn aimed a very rude hand gesture towards Lou in reply.

"Really, though," Niall said, laughing slightly. "We're performing tomorrow night. We should get some decent rest; I'd like to make it to the finals."

A thick, buzzing silence filled the room as Niall spoke, and Niall knew that each boy was someone surprised by the weight of his words.

"Wow," Zayn said finally. "It's week  _seven_ , lads."

"I know," Harry breathed, exchanging a dazzled look with Lou and Niall. "Can you believe we've made it through six performances so far?"

"Incredible," Louis breathed, shaking his head and blinking as if to clear his mind of the bizarre thought. "You know," he added. "I should thank you boys. I mean, i know I never would have made it this far as a soloist. Hell, I wouldn't have made it past boot camp."

"Louis, none of us would," Zayn reminded him pointedly. "That's kinda how this whole band thing happened..."

A moment later, Louis and Harry had one less pillow, and Zayn was cursing under his breath as he rubbed the place where the cushion had hit him.

"Shut it, you," Louis laughed. "It's just...odd. This is all going by so fast, innit?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Feels like yesterday we were in Spain, doesn't it?"

"And I was pouring cake mix in your hair," Louis grinned, eyebrows waggling.

"Only after I smeared it in your shirt!" Harry retorted.

"Oh yeah, that's right," Louis said slowly, a sly, mischievous tone creeping slowly into his voice. Oh, no, Niall thought, sighing as he flopped back onto his mattress and gripped his pillow in his fists. "You owe me another one!" Louis declared, and suddenly the room was filled with Harry's shrill squawks of protest and Louis's giggles as the older boy tackled him and sent him sprawling across the mattress.

"Louis, no!" Harry shrieked, laughing a little too loudly as Louis's fingers wriggled under Harry's night shirt, and Zayn and Niall exchanged knowing looks of mingled delight and exasperation.

"Oi! Lovebirds, how about you shut up so we can make it another week in this house!" Niall hollered, wincing as he heard a feint creak and groan from the next room.

"Dunno why we'd want to stay in here any minute longer," Zayn grumbled, pummeling his pillow and growling to himself as he wriggled back beneath the blankets, but they all knew he was kidding; they loved every moment spent in the house.

"Mum, make the nightmares stop," A feeble whimper sounded from overhead, and Niall glanced up to realise that the noise had caused Liam to become distressed in his sleep. He sighed; aggravating poor, innocent Liam was crossing the line.

"Maybe we  _should_  get some sleep," Harry mumbled reluctantly, and Niall and Zayn scoffed in unison. A quiet creak sounded through the room as Harry made to lift himself off the bed, but Louis grinned, sliding his fingers around his wrist and whispering playfully, "Won't you stay?"

"I hate life, I hate life, I hate life," Zayn muttered repeatedly under his breath, dropping his head into the mattress, and Niall sighed, smiling as Harry crawled back into Louis's arms and the whispers and giggles resumed, louder and more bashful than ever.

Niall shook his head, stifling an adoring laugh as he lay his head back down on the pillow and gazed sleepily at the wooden planks above him.

Another day on the X Factor, he thought with a bleary yawn.

 

❡❡❡

 

Despite Zayn's grouchy fury with Harry and Louis the next morning, and Niall's insistence that their whispering would be their ultimate downfall on the show, the boys' performance of  _"All You Need is Love"_  went as smoothly and as successfully as each of the previous shows, and after moving onward in the competition with flying colours the next evening, each of the boys was left with a sleepy, exhausted sort of ecstasy as they realised they'd made it to the first round of the finals.

It was a Monday; the day off for the contestants, and Cher, Matt, Niall, and Louis had chosen to spend their down time curling up in the den of the X House to watch a  _Harry Potter_  film. Liam and Zayn decided to go for a long jog through Sudbury and had invited Harry to go along.

Well, Niall, Louis, Cher, and Matt were an hour and a half into the film, and Niall did not think that he had ever seen such a heightened display of separation anxiety before.

His eyebrows arched across his forehead in mingled alarm and amusement as his blue eyes followed Louis. The boy had not been able to sit still since the opening credits began to roll; his nails were in his mouth, his foot was jiggling off the edge of the sofa, and his eyes were fluttering from the television set to the door every twenty seconds.

"Louis, are you sure you don't need anything?" Matt asked for the fourth time, sighing with frustration as he dipped his forehead into his hands. "Like, I dunno, a sleeping pill?"

Cher didn't seem to mind Louis's restlessness, on the other hand. In fact, she seemed to be much more entertained by it than by the film itself, and she was giggling to herself, slipping popcorn between her lips, as she watched Louis's agitation unfold before them. Niall wasn't too bothered either; but this was probably due to the fact that he knew exactly what was causing Louis's unease, and he could not be more pleased about it.

"God dammit, would you all shut up? Harry's about to swipe the golden egg," Matt hollered, growing breathless as he wriggled forward on the cushions, eyes glued to the screen. At the sound of the name as it slipped off Matt's tongue, Louis seemed to jump against the couch.

"What? Harry, where? Is he back?" As he swivelled on the spot, eyes bugging while he gazed towards the entrance of the den, Cher gestured towards the screen, and Louis realised which Harry Matt was referring to. He sighed, shoulders slumping and eyebrows furrowing into a grouchy caterpillar as he slunk back onto the cushions, and Niall crammed his knuckles into his mouth to stifle the delighted laughter pressing at his lips.

"Dunno why we had to chose this movie," Louis grumbled to himself, and Niall buried his face into a pillow as he shook with silent laughter.

"I thought you said you loved the Harry Potter movies," Cher accused him reproachfully, eyes still twinkling as she tossed a kernel of popcorn to Matt, who expertly caught it in his mouth.

"He does," Niall grinned, eyes bright and face cracking with a grin as he curled happily onto the sofa. "He's just got other things on his mind at the moment, don't you, Lou?" Niall collapsed with innocent, immature giggles as Louis sent him a deadly glance, and he threw his head back over the arm of the sofa. Niall's laughter being contagious, Cher began to snicker too, and soon enough, even Matt was chuckling too himself as he watched an enormous dragon soar across the screen of the telly.

Impatient with his friends' antics and clearly quit aggravated by whatever was bothering him, Louis let his lower lip fall forward in a sulky pout, and a high, testy whine emanated from the back of his throat. 

Niall only laughed harder. He honestly could not be more giddy with the cause of Lou's anxiety; it was just too wonderful.  

"Louis, seriously, what's got your knickers in a-  _Oh_ ," Cher breathed, eyes widening with realization as Niall caught her eye and winked, and a smile the size of the room stretched her cheeks. Beaming like a mischievous primary school child keeping a secret, she pursed her lips and tugged her knees silently to her chest, sending Louis small, knowing glances once in awhile. 

"Just noticed, have you?" Matt smirked, eyebrows rising and falling as he eyed the screen.  

"Noticed what?" Louis asked sharply, fingers drumming against his knee as he sent Matt a sharp look. 

"Nothing," the other three chorused, Niall and Cher giggling all the while and Matt rolling his eyes boredly.

At this, Louis only sulked more heavily, his scowl deepening every time the word  _Harry_ drifted from the television set.  

"Cheer up, Lou," Niall chuckled, eyes still gleaming.  "Whatever it is that's bothering you, he'll be home soon." 

 Louis sent him a wary glance.

"What d'you mean,  _he'll be home soon?_  You've no idea what's bothering me," he shot defensively, brow riddled with stubbornness, and yet all the while his eyes continued to dart hopefully towards the door.

"Whatever, Lou Bear!" Niall sang happily, beaming like a circus clown as he wrapped a pillow in his arms and rolled clumsily across the sofa.  Louis simply grumbled under his breath.  His face, which usually held a smile that was too sunny for its own good, now displayed an awful scowl, the corners of his lips turning down and his eyebrows scrunching childishly.  Niall only grinned sheepishly and swiped a large, crunchy handful of popcorn from Cher's bowl, provoking a squawk of protest from the girl.  

"You guys all suck," Louis grouched, moodier than Niall had ever seen him, and he continued to frown as he curled into a tight, compact ball in the corner of the sofa and nuzzled into the cushions.  Niall only smiled as Louis closed his eyes and his breathing slowly grew soft and steady, and he realised Lou had fallen asleep.

"Finally," Matt sighed quietly.  "God, that's a relief.  How often can you say you've seen a bitchy Lou, eh?"

"Only once in awhile," Niall noted seriously.  "You know...when a certain  _someone_ isn't around..."  Cher snorted into her palm, suddenly wrought with immature giggles, and Niall chuckled happily to himself as well.  

"Who?" an unexpected voice, faint and panting, interrupted the din, and Niall turned on the cushions to see a perspiring Zayn hovering in the entrance of the den.

"Hey, buddy," Niall grinned, nodding in Zayn's direction.  "How was your run?"  

"Oh, it was fine," Zayn panted, eyes widening slightly.  "I mean...I did really well.  Wasn't...out of shape at all, you know?" he continued with a gasp, hand clutching a stitch below his ribs.

"Lies," Liam grinned as he appeared behind Zayn in the doorway, looking quite sweaty but not out of breath at all as he clapped his mate on the back.  "I lapped you, what, three times?"

"Two," Zayn scowled, sending Liam a whithering glance through the damp strands of his hair, and Liam only grinned, eyes crinkling as he gazed happily around at the lot of contestants in the room.

"What've you guys been up to, then?" he asked cheerfully, looking quite rejuvenated as opposed to the exhausted Zayn, and Niall gestured to the television set, still flashing with images of the film as it drew to an end.  "Oh, you watched Harry Potter without me?" Liam whined, face falling as he gazed at the set, and Niall grinned.  

"Don't worry, we'll watch it again," Matt offered comfortingly.  "We missed most of it, what with Sir Grumps-a-Lot over here."  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and in the direction of Louis's snoozing form on the sofa.  

"Lou?  Grumpy?" Liam asked curiously, his brow scrunching in confusion.  "Since when?"

As Niall opened his mouth to answer with a knowing leer, the conversation was interrupted as a familiar head of limp, curly hair bobbed into view behind Liam, a towel slung over his shoulder and a water bottle wrapped in one palm.

"'Lo, lads," Harry greeted them.  "How was your afterno-" He was cut off, however, as a quiet, bothered groan buzzed throughout the room, and Niall turned to see that Louis was stirring upon the cushions, fists balled and knuckles rubbing into his eyes.  Harry's eyes softened slightly as they lit on the small boy on the sofa and he fell silent.

"Mm?  Wossat..." Louis mumbled groggily as he sat up, hair sticking out in all directions.  "Thought I heard..."

"Unbelievable," Matt shook his head, eyebrows arched with mingled amusement and annoyance as his eyes flickered between Louis and the green-eyed boy standing in the doorway.  Louis didn't seem to hear him as he smacked his lips sleepily and looked around at the new addition of people to the room.  

"Mm, 'lo Liam, 'lo Zayn." he sighed sleepily, his eyes roaming across each boy.  "Harry!" he added eagerly, suddenly sounding much more awake than he had a couple of seconds ago.  Harry grinned shyly, and within a moment, Louis had scrambled across the cushions to reach for Harry's wrist and yank him forward onto the sofa, Harry grunting in surprise.

"Jesus, Lou," Harry muttered, still smiling, and Louis only snickered as he dragged Harry to the corner of the couch and folded his legs beside him, gesturing to the television screen.  

"Harry Potter's about to escape from Voldemort, so shut up and watch," he declared happily, wriggling slightly upon the cushions as he slung an affectionate arm over Harry's shoulders.  Liam and Zayn exchanged dubious looks.

"Doesn't look so grumpy to me," Zayn shrugged, sending Niall a reproachful glance.  

"Well, he wouldn't, would he?  Not  _now,_ anyways," Matt smirked, and Cher giggled, face red with suppressed laughter.

"What d'you think they're chuckling about?" Niall heard Harry mutter to Louis under his breath, his knees tugged to his chest and resting lightly over Louis's lap.

"No idea," Louis replied with a shrug, his fingers absent-mindedly darting through the curls at the nape of Harry's neck.   

Niall only smiled.

 

❡❡❡

 

Living in the X House was all great fun, of course, and the lads were sure to enjoy every moment of it.  However, as the day of the first round of the finals drew nearer and nearer, they realised that they'd need to working a lot harder and focusing quite a bit more consistently if they wanted to stay in the competition.

 So, Harry and the others had made sure to come to rehearsals fully energized the next morning, and Niall, Liam, and Zayn seemed to be in much brighter spirits because, for once, Harry and Louis had allowed them a full night's sleep Monday evening.

 "Okay, this week, we're incorporating an unusual twist." Simon began early on Tuesday morning, eyes still slightly pinched with sleep as they roamed up and down the sheath of papers clutched in his hands, and Harry immediately jumped to attention. "If you're a fan of the show, you'll know that, every year in the finals rounds, each group or contestant performs two songs rather than one."

Each of the boys nodded vaguely to themselves. They had all seen the show as children, dreaming that one day, they would be in the place of the competitors...

And here they were.

Yet, this was so much more than Harry could have ever asked for. All his life, he'd been thinking he'd be alone and solitary up on a smoky, empty stage, the spotlight trained solely on him, and somehow he had thought that was what he really wanted.

But this... Standing next to four of the most amazing people he could have possibly hoped to meet was so, so much better than that. How could he ever have gotten so lucky? The question boggled his mind as Simon continued to speak of the cruciality of the performance.

"What songs will we be singing?" Niall asked eagerly, blue eyes wide and his teeth digging into his lower lip as he looked up at Simon, feet tapping slightly on the wooden floors of the rehearsal room.

 "Well, the theme these week is  _Rock,_ " Simon began vaguely, and both Harry and Liam hissed eager  _"Yes"_ 's under their breath.  "And Savan and I have chosen a single that we think...well, really  _accentuates_ what the five of you bring to the stage.  It matches the band's personality, so to speak."

"Yeah?" each boy asked, eager to hear which song Simon had selected.

"Well, first of all, we've chosen  _Summer of '69._ It's fun, it's loud, it's catchy, and it's timeless; I think you boys, especially at your age, will really be able to make it feel... _young_ again, I suppose.  Do you get what I'm saying, here?"  The lads nodded, some already wriggling with nerves as Simon impressed upon them the expectations they'd need to fulfill.  "And, for that first number, we've selected Liam as the single soloist, just to keep things tidy and tight," he muttered, and Liam ducked his head shyly towards his chest while Zayn grinned and clapped him on the back.

"What about choreography?" Niall asked, somewhat anxiously, and Zayn swallowed.

"Choreography-wise, this will be a lot like week 6 when you performed  _Kids in America,_ " Simon informed them, his brow scrunching as he continued to eye his clipboard, never once glancing up towards the boys.  "We'll have thirty dancers, and you'll be running around quite a bit, circling the panel."  Harry nodded slightly to himself; that shouldn't be too difficult.

"In any case," Simon continued.  "We'll begin vocal rehearsals straight away, and then leap into the second number."

"What'll the second number be, then?" Harry asked.

"The second song we'll be performing is going to be risky." he replied, crossing his arms in a business-like manner over his chest and glaring down at the lot of them, as if daring each lad to screw things over. "What we're doing will be raw and effortless, and there's a good chance it will botch the competition for you boys-if you do it incorrectly."

Incorrectly? Harry wondered. How on earth could a person perform "incorrectly?"

As Simon's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, a nervous sweat began to break across Harry's forehead. Simon was usually so easy to work with. This was an unusual turn.

"We're done building you up. We're not going to work up to displaying your potential anymore," Simon continued. "Because this is it, lads. This is the time to pull out the big guns and give it everything you've got. I'm going to play to your strengths, and you best play right along, or else it's bye-bye record contract. Capisce?" Harry gulped and nodded while Liam and Niall murmured hastily in consent.

Louis's eyebrows had furrowed seriously as he gazed stonily up at Simon, and Harry knew that he, for once, was taking this just as seriously as their mentor was.

Harry felt....proud of his best mate.  Or, could he even call Louis his mate? He was more like a...well, he certainly wasn't like a brother. He wasn't like a cousin, or a friend, or anything remotely platonic. Wait, what? Platonic? Yes, their relationship was platonic. It must be. If it wasn't, things were...Things were simply complicated....They had to be friends. Just friends. Harry's stomach dropped slightly at that thought. If he was being honest with himself, he honestly did not see Louis as a friend; not as he saw Niall, Liam, Zayn, or Nick, in any case, and they were definitely in the friend category. What on earth, then, did that make Louis? It was almost as if what he and Harry shared was romanti-

"Harry? Harry."

"Wha...Oh, sorry, Uncle Simey." Harry hastily apologized, biting his lip guiltily as he blinked up at his cross mentor.

"C'mon, Harry, this is a crucial moment here. We don't have time to lose focus." Simon tittered.

"Don't worry, Si, I'll keep him in line," Louis grinned, his blue eyes glinting as he extended an arm and suddenly grabbed Harry's bum in his palm, giving it a quick, playful squeeze. Harry jumped instinctively, supposing he should be annoyed, but a mad grin was dawning on his lips all the while; the same grin that was always accompanied with a deep, crimson blush whenever Louis offered him the slightest bit of attention. No one had ever had that much of an impact on him before. It was a little unnerving, true, but more than anything it was...

Was exciting the word? No, it was comforting, knowing that, after all Harry had been through in his life, he could still manage to become so devoted and so attached to a person. Who would have thought that person would be his bandmate, and even more bizarrely, a lad-

"Are you with us, then?" Simon asked, and Harry nodded determinedly, clenching his teeth against the confusing thoughts buzzing around his mind as he stared attentively up into Simon's sharp, blue eyes, so much colder than Louis's. He needed to stop letting himself become so baffled and start paying closer attention to the competition itself. He couldn't let himself be so easily distracted...

"Savan, would you like to take the stage?" Simon asked, nodding politely to the competition's leading vocal coach, and Savan grinned, stepping up into Simon's place.

"Simon's right, boys, this'll be a precarious week for you, especially for the second number, but I personally think you can handle it. We'll be working with the raw materials, here-namely, your voices, and nothing but your voices. You'll be glad to hear that you'll simply be sitting on stools and singing." Savan grinned. The boys continued to ogle him, waiting for further detail, but Simon simply closed his mouth and blinked happily back at them.

"...And..." Liam questioned, motioning for him to go on, and Simon grinned.

"That's it. I told it it would be risky."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Harry asked nervously. Simon had been so disappointed with Cher a few weeks back when she had done nothing but perch on a luminous staircase as she sang a mellow Beatles song. The idea that he was now suggesting five energetic boys to do exactly this was....well, a little unnerving.

"I'm pretty sure," Savan said coolly.

"Don't question him, mate," Zayn hushed Harry urgently, a slow smile beginning to curl his lips, and it was clear that he was quite pleased with the prospect of a performance with absolutely no choreography whatsoever.

"Okay," Liam said reluctantly, looking as disconcerted as Harry felt. "What song will we be singing?"

"Ah," Savan smiled slyly, a small grin crossing his lips as he glanced towards Harry. "Well, we took a leaf out of your book, Harry, and we've chosen a Billy Preston song." At this, Harry's spine seemed to straighten, and a small bout of excitement bloomed in his chest. Were they kidding him? He had been practically raised on the music of the songwriter. This was incredible.

"Really?' he asked breathlessly, and his cheeks tinged once more as the sound of Louis's adoring chuckles drifted to his hears. "Which song?"

" _You Are So Beautiful_. A personal favourite," Savan announced with a flash of his teeth, and Harry grinned, eyes brightening.

"Would you like to know who'll have the pleasure of singing it, then?" Simon asked, a vague smile lighting his lips as he stared questioningly down at the five excited boys.

"You need to ask?" Louis raised an eyebrow skeptically, and Simon laughed.

"All right. Savan, do you have the list, then?"

"Right here," Savan murmured, frowning slightly in concentration as he fumbled with the clipboard clutched between his palms. "All right. We've got three soloists for this number."

"Again?" Harry asked, his voice falling slightly as he realised with great dismay that not each and every lad would have the opportunity to express their talent. Savan sent him a guilty glance over the rim of his clipboard before continuing.

"Liam, you'll take the first verse, all right?" he said, and Liam smiled with a nod, amber eyes twinkling.

"Thanks," he mumbled quietly, voice rich with chagrin, and Harry stifled a chuckle.

"Harry, I've got you down for both bridges and the chorus," Savan announced, and Harry blinked slowly, lips parting. They were about to perform their most important number yet, and the team thought he, Harry, had the talent and potential necessary to sing the majority of the song?

Wow... Just, wow... he thought, eyes wide and cheeks pink with chagrin. He tilted his head, exchanging a small look with Louis, and to his delight, the Doncaster boy could not have looked more proud. An expression of immense adoration and pride had plastered itself to his sharp, delicate features, and his blue eyes were soft with praise as they settled on the curly haired boy. Harry's lips pinched and pursed as he struggled to repress the ecstatic smile tugging tightly at his mouth as the boy gazed openly towards him, and Louis winked knowingly while Harry blushed.

Turning back to Savan, he waited for him to announce the final soloist. It had to be Lou. He was the only member of the band who hadn't had a chance to display his incredible voice independently, and if there was a single performance in which they needed his talent, it was this one. It had to be Louis.

"And the last soloist, we've decided," Savan continued, and Harry smiled, waiting for Louis's name to fall from his lips. "Will be Zayn. You'll be taking the second verse, okay?"

What?

Harry's mouth fell open as Zayn's name echoed about his head.

Of course, Zayn had a fantastic voice. It was beautiful, smooth, flawless...And yet, he'd had the opportunity to flaunt his gift nearly every single week the boys performed. Louis's voice was just as spectacular, and if anything, it was dire for their most important performance yet, so why in the name of hell wasn't he finally receiving the opportunity?

Zayn's expression mirrored Harry's, and his eyebrows furrowed with confusion as his eyes darted anxiously between Savan and Louis, whose face had fallen slightly with the announcement. Harry's green eyes widened at the sight of the disappointed, disheartened expression on the boy's face. Oh, Boo...

"Wait a second," Harry began speaking to Savan, just as Zayn said the same.

"I mean, I've had solos nearly every week. Shouldn't Lou get a shot?" Zayn asked guiltily, glancing up at the vocal producer.

"Well, ordinarily we would agree, but this week is crucial and has no regard to previous performances. We're playing to your strengths, as I said, and we've arranged the most ideal-"

"So you don't think Louis is part of that equation?" Harry asked sharply, frowning and leaning forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs.

"Haz, it's okay," Louis said quietly, his fingers slowly making their way to Harry's leg and squeezing the younger boy's knee gently. Harry ignored the heat that ignited at his touch and exchanged a tiny, communicative glance with Lou before biting his lip and turning back to Savan.

"Of course I do, Harry," Savan assured him with a sigh. "Louis's a wonderful singer, and we all know that. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't. We just think that, for this particular song, his talent would be more valuable if he's harmonizing, all right?" Harry frowned, falling into troubled silence for a long moment as his glance flickered thoughtfully from Savan to Simon, and finally back to Louis, who offered him a weak, comforting smile. Sighing slightly, Harry returned the expression and nodded to himself.

"All right," he grumbled. As Savan smiled briefly with a shuffle of his clipboard and continued to explain to the group what would be doing for the number, Harry lapsed into thoughtful quiet, his lips pursed and his fingers fumbling with the soft hem of Louis's shirt out of habit. He sighed quietly through his nose as the familiar, soft material brushed gently against the pads of his fingertips.

Despite his clear disappointment, a vague smile had settled upon Louis's pink lips as Harry's fingers brushed the bare skin of his waist sub-consciously. While Savan continued to speak, Harry blinked slowly, eyebrows furrowing as his head raised. He had the distinct feeling that someone or something was watching him. As he lifted his gaze, his eyes roamed from the vocal coach to his mentor. He swallowed.

Simon's eyes, meaningful and full of dark foreboding, were trained solidly on Harry's hand, still warm against Louis's skin.

 

❡❡❡

 

The lads spent a good hour and half going over the vocal characteristics of the song- learning the lyrics, composing the harmonies, and so forth.  Near three or four in the afternoon, Savan dismissed Niall and Louis in order to do some further work with the three soloists.

"One more time, Liam, and less of a rumble on this one.  We want smooth and clean-cut, not rocky and rough, okay?"  

Liam cleared his throat loudly for the fourth time, his brow pinched and an anxious glint in his eyes.  He'd been asked to repeat his solo seven times, now, and he was growing increasingly frustrated as, with every repetition, he failed to achieve the tone Savan was looking for.

"You are so beautiful to me," he began, closing his eyes and clenching his hands tightly around the microphone as he struggled to find the correct timbre.  "You are so beautiful to me.  Can't you see, oh..."

"Watch the tremor on  _'see,'_ " Savan sighed once more, pressing his fingertips to his temples as Liam's voice faltered and caught on the word.  Liam blinked tightly, teeth clenched and lips pursed as he scuffed the sole of his shoe against the ground.  

"You are  _so_ beautiful..." he began once more, and swore under his breath as his voice caught once more.  Harry's mouth twitched sympathetically; now that Liam was so agitated and stressed, he'd never be able to hit the note correctly.  Apparently Savan was thinking the same thing.  

"Okay, Li, why don't you go get a glass of water and calm down for a while, and then we can get back to work?" he asked gently, patting Liam on the back.  "You did a good job, bud."  Liam offered him a grateful, shaky smile before nodding to himself and striding out of the room and towards the kitchen.

"Okay, Harry, shall we get started, then?" Savan asked, casting Harry a nervous glance, and suddenly Harry was very anxious about just how well he would perform the solo.  If his rehearsal went anything like Liam's, it was bound to be a very long afternoon.  "Let's take it from the top of your bit in five, four..." and he nodded towards the musician sitting at the piano, who began creating soft chords throughout the room.  Taking a deep breath, Harry blinked and began the measure.

"You're everything I hoped for, and you're everything I need.  You are so beautiful to me," he carried the last note slightly, sending Savan a nervous look; he wasn't quite sure how long he wanted Harry to draw the note out from the chord.  To his relief, Savan only smiled approvingly, sending Harry an impressed wink.  

"Good, good.  Sounds very good, Harry.  I'd just like you to cut that last note a bit shorter, can you do that?"  Harry repeated the verse, this time keeping the last note's reverberation to a minimum, and Savan could only grin.

"Well done, Harry.  I'd say you've got it down nicely; I'd expected to do a bit more with you, but it seems like you've got the gist.  Let's go...three more times, and then we can work with Zayn a bit, yeah?"  harry nodded, feeling a bit more relaxed, and by the time he had repeated the verse three more times, Savan was positively radiating with delight, and Harry felt like he was floating.   _"Excellent._ Well, we certainly chose the right boy for that verse, didn't we?" Savan asked eagerly, and Harry could only smile, biting his lip as he blushed.  

"Thanks," he muttered, and Zayn grinned, sending him a thumbs-up from across the room where he stood near his microphone.  

"All right, Harry, I think we've done enough with your verse for today.  I'll have Zayn tell you lads what time to meet tomorrow morning, yeah?"

"Yeah, great," Harry grinned.  "Thanks, Sav."  He waved happily goodbye to Zayn and strode for the door, glad the rehearsal had ended so quickly.

As Harry strode down the corridor of the X House, still grinning widely from his successful session with Savan, a sound reached his ears; a sound so incredibly beautiful and so terribly broken that he stopped in his tracks.

That voice...He knew that voice. He knew it better than any other, better than his own. As if his feet suddenly gained minds of their own, he felt himself moving sub-consciously down the hall, lips parting as he gravitated towards the source of the voice. He slowed to a stop outside one of the small rehearsal rooms, and he realised that the door was ajar. Turning his head slightly to angle his ear in the direction of the door, he took a deep, rattly breath through his nose. The voice was louder, now, stronger, fuller, yet still so, so broken...Only one person could make such a noise.

"Louis?" Harry breathed to himself, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and he silently took a hesitant step forward and gently pushed the door open to peer inside. Louis sat at the sleek, glossy black piano, shoulders hunched tightly over the instrument, his face contorted with mingled frustration and angst as his fingers pounded harshly into the keys, sending a tight, raw melody careening through the room. His voice, sweet and high as it accompanied the notes, did not sound as it should; it was forced and focused, unlike its usual relaxed, care-free tone. It didn't sound right.

"You are so beautiful to me," he sang, his voice shaking slightly with every syllable, and as he listened to the sound, his face only tightened with increasing aggravation. "Can't you see...Can't...Can't you... Damn," he cursed, sending his fingers plunking clumsily across the keys and causing a sharp, harsh plunk to emanate throughout the room, and Harry winced.

"Lou?" he asked timidly, stepping quietly into the room. Louis's head shot up as if a bomb had just gone off; he looked so startled.

"Harry," he replied, his voice cracking nervously as he quickly removed his hands from they ivory keys. "Er...What are you doing here? I thought you were rehearsing."

"I just finished," Harry shrugged. "Lou," he said again, wringing his hands and walking apprehensively towards the piano. "Erm...Can I sit down?"

"Whatever," Louis muttered, his face sliding into an unhappy grimace, one that Harry, or anyone for that matter, very rarely saw. It wasn't right. That look; it didn't belong there. Harry sighed as he slid onto the bench beside Louis, their warm thighs brushing slightly, and he swallowed.

"Louis, why were you singing Liam's solo?" he asked quietly. Louis's face blackened, and he turned slightly away from Harry.

"No reason," he muttered darkly. "Maybe I like to try out new songs once in awhile. Anything wrong with that? I just...Er...New experience." He finished lamely. Harry's eyes narrowed. For once in his life, he saw right through the boy beside him, rather than the other way around.

"That's great," he said, clapping a hand on Louis's shoulder, a small pang running through his heart as, for the first time, Louis flinched from his touch. Determined not to let anything come between them, Harry only strengthened his grip, pressing his thumb into the tight, knotted muscles of Louis's back, attempting to relax him. "Now, why don't you tell me the real reason?" When Louis did not respond, Harry sighed. "Lou, you've been acting up all week. You barely look at me anymore. Don't you think I've noticed? You're my best mate," he finished softly. "Trust me. I've noticed." He waited in silence as Louis sat beside him, still as a statue, pondering. Finally, his lower lip clamped in his teeth, he turned slightly to glance at Harry from the corner of his eye.

"Harry," he whispered. "If I ask you something, would you answer me honestly?"

"Of course," Harry said gently. "How could I not?" Louis took a deep breath, turning on the bench to face his best mate.

"Do...Do you think I'm a good singer?" Harry's jaw dropped. How could Louis ask such a question? Hadn't he heard himself sing? His voice, god, that sweet, smooth voice, was nothing short of remarkable. It was unique; beautiful.

"Louis!" he exclaimed, astonished. "Don't be so silly. I love your voice. You know that. Why on earth would you ever have to ask?" Louis's eyes, today a deep, glistening shade of green, darted from Harry's, fixating nervously on his lap.

"I dunno," he muttered. "I just... Did you know I've never had a solo?" he asked suddenly, biting his lip.

"So?" Harry shrugged. "A lot of people in the groups haven't. Doesn't mean they don't sing well."

"Doesn't it?" Louis asked desperately, turning to look Harry in the eye, and Harry's heart rate quickened slightly, thrumming lightly in his ears. He fought back the sensation, gulping as he felt himself drowning in those piercing shards. Louis had always, always had wonderful eyes...Harry had just never felt so...Enveloped by them. He knew it must be a time of need for the both of them. "Doesn't it say something when the same people are chosen over and over again to flaunt their talent, while the rest are trusted with nothing more than inaudible backing vocals? I mean, everyone in the band has gotten solos but me. Doesn't it say something, that fact that Simon doesn't trust me to sing on the show?"

"Shut up," Harry said abruptly. "Be quiet, Louis, you're talking rubbish."

"Am I?" Louis asked darkly. "You've had solos nearly every week. Liam's had solos every week. Zayn is in the same boat, and even Nialler sings the verses from time to time. But me? No one out there knows how I sound, because... because no one on the show wants them to hear me. I'm a placeholder." Harry's eyes widened. The fact that Louis thought so lowly of himself was simply unacceptable. He was far, far too amazing to feel such things. "I'm a talentless lad put in the band for the sake of swaying in the background like a bloody prop, I'm nothing but a-"

"Louis, stop!" Harry exclaimed, panic rising in his voice, and he did the only thing he could think of to convince Louis to be quiet. He threw his arms around the boy's shoulders, threading his fingers together over the small of his back and tugging him tightly into an awkward, tight hug, seeing as Lou's arms were locked solidly at his sides. "Just shut up, Louis," he whispered gently in his ear, and he smiled with relief as Louis wriggled his arms out of Harry's grasp and let them slide around Harry's waist, pressing himself tightly against the curly-haired lad, seeking his comfort.

"It's true, though, isn't it?" Louis mumbled as he rested his chin on Harry's shoulder.

"Never," Harry whispered, his lips tickled by the feathery wisps of Louis's hair, his breath heating Louis's earlobe. He felt Louis's heart pounding against his chest, matching the quick, uneven pace of his own, and he wondered vaguely if Louis was just as confused as he was.

He felt so perfect in Louis's arms, as if he simply...fit. He had never felt perfectly at home anywhere or with anyone, but he knew that home was wherever Louis was. Earlier, he had simply thought that the inexplicable comfort Louis brought him was solely based on an unusually close friendship, but as Louis nuzzled his face gently into Harry's neck, and Harry's hands tightened comfortingly around Louis's back, he was reminded that what they had was not a simple friendship. Perhaps it wasn't friendship at all...Perhaps...

"Listen to me," he murmured, leaning back in Louis's arms to glare sternly into those green eyes. "Don't' you ever, ever think for a second that you're anything short of amazing, Louis, because you're not, and you never will be. Understand?"

"But-" Louis began to protest, anxiety creasing his bronze forehead.

"I said, understand?" Harry repeated, his lips parting slightly as he focused intently on Lou.

"Do...Do you honestly think that, Harry?" Louis murmured, his voice riddled with hope and desperation.

"I know that, Louis." Harry replied in a low voice, and finally, that beautiful, breathtaking smile broke across Louis's rosy lips, and at the sight of its reappearance, a weak grin crept upon harry's own face.

"I just...I..." Louis mumbled, his voice cracking slightly as he swallowed, his eyes reddening slightly with moisture. "Sometimes I just feel like I'm...nothing.... And like I'm not worth anything..."

"Louis," Harry whispered, appalled, and he craned his neck to glare into Louis's shattered face. "Louis, how could you ever think that? Ever?" Harry may not have known much, but if he knew anything certainly, it was that Louis was far from worthless. He was the best. Unstoppable; even when he didn't think so.

"It's not hard," Louis muttered miserably, his eyes locking ashamedly on his lap.

"It is for me," Harry said softly, smiling slightly as he looked into those piercing eyes. "I could never imagine ever seeing you as worthless. You're the opposite, in every way." Louis bit his lip, a tiny smile finally tugging gently at the corners of his lips. Harry could see that, as much as Louis did not want to believe him, he was falling into Harry's reliance, trusting him.

"You're brilliant, boo," Harry whispered, pressing his lips gently to the soft, smooth skin of Louis's forehead, as he did every night before they fell asleep, as they did whenever they other was in need. Harry's heart thudded loudly in his chest as his lips brushed Louis's warm skin. Louis sub-consciously leaned into Harry's touch, his eyes fluttering shut gently, and Harry tugged him back into his embrace, hugging him more tightly and securely than ever, simply wanting to convey to Louis that he was not alone, nor would ever be.

"And if you ever forget that again, remember that I am always here for you." Harry reminded him.  He felt Louis nod beside him, his hair mussing his curls and his chin bobbing against his shoulder, and Harry smiled gently, tracing small, circular patterns across Louis's lower back, knowing exactly how to calm Louis down. He knew everything about Louis. Everything. And that was never, ever going to change.

"Are you okay?" Harry mumbled against Louis's ear, and Louis shivered slightly before nodding again. "Good," Harry whispered, pulling himself reluctantly out of Louis's arms and turning to face the keys. "Now, let's conjure up a proper song, shall we?"

A slow grin crawled across Louis's mouth, and Harry winked before grabbing Louis's hands in his own and placing them gently on the keys.

"Go for it. I know you can," he whispered, and at his words, Louis's back straightened proudly, and that familiar confidence Harry valued so much made a reappearance. The familiar chords of this week's song filled the room. Harry would make Louis feel just how valuable he really was. As the first lines of the song approached, Harry nodded to him in encouragement, and Louis smiled nervously.

"You are so beautiful to me," he began, his face softening as he lost himself in the song, and Harry closed his eyes, letting Louis's smooth, wonderful voice flow through his ears like melted chocolate. God, if he knew just how amazing he really was...

"You are so beautiful to me," Harry trilled the second line.

"Can't you see, oh," Louis sang.

"You're everything I hoped for, you're everything I need," Harry joined in. Louis's eyes, now morphing back into a beautiful, rich shade of blue, met his, and they exchanged a content, understanding smile before they sang the last line together, their voices synchronizing as wonderfully as any two voices could. At least, Harry thought so.

"You are so beautiful...to me." Louis's fingers ghosted over the white keys of the piano, letting the chords fade into the silent air, and he turned, beaming at Harry.

Harry's heart was rocketing in his chest, pounding loudly in his ears, as if the entire world was throbbing unsteadily.

The way he felt when he was around Lou...

The way he shuddered whenever Lou murmured in his ear...

The way a simple brush of his finger tips or the touch of his lips could send his heart rocketing across his chest...

The way Louis could bring a smile to his face in the worst of times...

The way he felt so perfectly happy in Louis's arms...

The way he could tell Louis anything and feel as if he had a safe harbor, a rock to cling to...

The way he would do absolutely anything, anything for Louis...

Everything was falling into place.

No, he thought desperately. I can't... It can't... I won't...

But he knew now that there was no more denying of the feeling swirling nervously through him, no denying the butterflies Louis conjured in his middle whenever they touched, no denying how his cheeks warmed and his dimples deepened with every glance from those ocean-blue eyes, brighter than the sun in the sky...

His breath caught in his chest, and he gasped slightly.

"Harry?" that beautiful, wonderful voice cut through the silence. "Hazza, are you okay?"

Oh, God, Harry thought, realization rushing through him like a massive tidal wave.

"I...I can't... I have to... No..." Harry stuttered, his voice cracking as he sprang desperately to his feet, his head flying to and fro before he gathered his mangled thoughts and scuttled for the door.

"Harry, what-" he heard Louis call anxiously after him as he began to run.

He ran out the door, down the corridor, past the rehearsal room, past a happy Niall as he sat contentedly on the kitchen floor, surrounded by boxes of Chinese takeout, and out the patio door and into the stark, blinding sunlight, pounding into the back of his neck, burning his skin. A strangled sob escaped his lips as he ran, and he closed his eyes as he let his feet carry him across the lawn, over the hill, and to a small, secluded patch of oak trees, far from view of the house. He stumbled clumsily over branches, tripping and sending dead leaves flying through the air before floating to the ground, swaying slightly in the breeze.

Gasping, he slowed to a stop, and as he blinked, once, twice, three times, his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed pathetically to the ground, feeling as if he were falling apart at the seams. He gathered his legs in his arms, squeezing himself into a tight bundle, praying that, in the blink of an eye, everything would somehow make sense, but as Harry had learned, life didn't quite work out that way.

He simply couldn't process the thought buzzing through his mind. He had always, always assumed that what he and Louis had was an exceedingly, unusually strong friendship, one that consisted of massive amounts of trust, affection, and happiness for the both of them.

He should have known. He should have realised that no friendship was that special. He was stupid to think that what he and Louis had was nothing more than brotherly. Harry knew what siblings were like. He and Gemma fought on a daily basis, insulting each other, teasing each other, only occasionally showing any mercy for the other's feelings.

When it came to Louis, however, arguing was unheard of. Honest insults were rarer than platinum. The one thing on Harry's mind, whether he was with Louis or not, was Louis's happiness. It was impossible for two people to care about each other the way the two of them did, impossible for two people to be able to tease, laugh, joke, and love like they did, and consider it nothing more than friendship.

Harry realised now that he had been stupid, that he had been closing his eyes against what he knew must have been true, because he had never wanted to believe in anything that risked the relationship he shared with Louis. He was afraid. He was afraid of what on earth was going through his head.

He was angry. He was absolutely furious with himself for letting such thoughts cross his mind, thoughts that would no doubt ruin what he and Lou had. He was crestfallen, because he knew his feelings would never, ever be mutual. He knew it now. He had finally found the explanation for all his confusion, the reason for why he felt the way he id around Louis, for why Louis made him feel like the happiest, luckiest, most special person to walk the earth. He buried his face in his knees, his eyes chafing against the raw, rough denim, and he sighed shamefully as wet, salty tears leaked onto the fabric. He had never thought this would happen. He had never thought he could ever, ever let anything like this get in the way of his life.

But there was no denying it now.

Harry Styles had feelings for his best friend.

 

❡❡❡

 

"You are so beautiful to me." Louis and Harry chorused together, their eyes meeting, a gentle smile curling Louis's lips.

He wondered if Harry's heart was beating as quickly as his. Somehow he doubted any one's would; his pulse was pounding in his ears, drumming stars into his vision. Singing with Harry was every bit as amazing and wonderful as anything he and Harry ever did together, whether it be cuddling, hugging, laughing, joking, teasing, dancing...Hell, Louis could be walking across hot coals and he would still enjoy himself, as long as Harry was there with him.

He smiled, his eyes closing as he listened to the fading melody of their voices, a slight disbelief coursing through him as he processed the fact that he, Louis Tomlinson, a faceless, meaningless lad from Doncaster, was singing with an amazing, talented lad like Harry. He couldn't believe Harry thought those things of hm. No one had ever, ever shown so much faith in him, and it meant more than anything.

There was no one like Harry. Louis only prayed he wouldn't lose him in a hurry. All the worthlessness and complete loss of hope he had felt mere moments ago was gone, replaced with mingled joy and gratefulness for the boy sitting beside him. Harry was right; whatever they had, it wasn't as simple as friendship, but Louis found himself not quite caring at that moment. As long as whatever they had made him happy, then he couldn't care less what label it was placed under, and God, did it make him happy. He had never felt so appreciated or so happy as when he felt with Harry.

With Harry, he was always having a laugh, always enjoying himself, always feeling like he was welcome, no matter who else was in their company. He knew he could always rely on Harry to have his back, and Louis knew he would never have someone like that again. As he opened his eyes, he frowned slightly to see the expression of dawning trepidation on Harry's face. It was out of place. He looked so, so troubled...Louis wanted nothing more than to comfort him and reassure him that everything would be all right, just as Harry had done for him only seconds ago.

"Harry?" he asked anxiously, ducking slightly to peer into those green eyes, looking like hurricanes as they swarmed with realisation. "Hazza, are you okay?" At the sound of Louis's voice, his eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat.

"I can't...I can't...I have to...No..." He stuttered, his voice cracking slightly as his lips parted and he suddenly leaped to his feet, his limbs sprawling wildly as his smooth, chocolate-coloured curls bounced around his head.

"Harry, what--" Louis began to ask, alarm in his voice, but his eyes widened, and he cut himself off as Harry turned on the spot and hurried out the door, looking for all the world as if a bomb had just gone off.

"Harry?" Louis mumbled quietly to himself, staring at the empty space of air where Harry had stood a moment ago. The room felt exceedingly...hollow without the curly-haired boy to keep him company, and Louis realised, biting his lip, that he missed Harry already. "You're being ridiculous," he muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly. He knew he shouldn't be so clingy, but Harry...

He was different. Louis wasn't sure how, but something about that lad made him an exception everything and in every way. What on earth had happened? What had Louis said or done to make Harry panic like that? He hated seeing Harry in distress. he cared about him far to much to ignore such a thing. He sighed, feeling very, very alone, and he slid the heavy, glossy black lid of the piano forward and over the keys before letting it fall with a dull thud.

"Louis?" A second voice interrupted Louis's mangled thoughts, but it was not the slow, husky mumble Louis craved to hear. He glanced up to see Niall hovering hesitantly in the door way, peanut sauce smeared across his lips, his blue eyes wide with confusion as he glanced at Lou.

"Hey, Niall," Louis sighed.

"What...Do you...Do you know what's wrong with Harry?" Niall asked, padding forward into the room and leaning causally against the piano.

"Why?" Louis asked anxiously. "What's he done?"

"Nothing, really," Niall said slowly, eyeing Louis suspiciously. "He just ran right out of the house and down the lawn. I'm not quite sure where he's got to. Thought you two might have had an argument or something."

"No," Louis said, shaking his head at the preposterous idea. He and Harry never fought. They were far too close... "The opposite, really. He was comforting me, you know, and we practiced the song together, and all of a sudden, he got this odd look on his face and just booked it." Louis explained, his forehead creasing with worry.

"What look?" Niall asked sharply.

"I dunno," Louis shrugged, eyeing him strangely. Since when was Niall the psychologist-extraordinaire? Then again, he probably saw things more clearly than Louis did. Then again, who didn't? "He just looked... scared. Like how Simon looks when he realises he's forgotten to run a sound check." Niall smirked slightly. "He's been acting a bit strangely, hasn't he?" Louis mumbled, his eyes burning holes in the floor as he bit his lip anxiously. "It's scaring me, Niall. What do you think is going on?" he asked, glancing helplessly up at the blonde Irish lad as he rested his hand on the sleek surface of the piano. Niall gazed down at him, those ice blue eyes sharp as they roamed over Louis's face.

"You really don't see it, do you?" he asked quietly, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"See what?" Louis asked, bewildered. Niall pursed his lips, grimacing slightly.

"Sorry, Lou. You'll have to figure that one out on your own. Just...Just take care of Harry, all right? He needs someone there for him right now."

"Of course," Louis blinked, as if this were the most obvious statement in the world. "Always. But Niall, what don't I see?"

"I'm sorry, Louis, that's not my story to tell," he said regretfully, shooting me a sad smile. "And listen," he said starting for the door. "Don't go after him quite yet. Just give him time to think." Louis nodded, his lips parted slightly as he watched Niall disappear out the door. First, Harry had begun acting oddly around him, his moods swinging like a pregnant woman's, and now, Niall had suddenly morphed into some sort of philosopher. Nothing felt quite right anymore. Louis sighed, laying his head in his hands, his elbows digging into his thighs, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, praying for the world to somehow right itself.

 

❡❡❡

 

"Harry? Harry!"

The sound of Niall's voice shouting distantly to him through the thicket of trees meant nothing to him. He wanted nothing more than to block out everyone else in the world, to escape the complication of life, of friendship, of Louis. "Harry? Harry, there you are, we've been worried sick," Niall said, his voice flooded with relief as he trampled loudly over the scape of dead leaves and broken twigs, sounding more like an elephant than a one hundred and sixty pound lad. He crashed clumsily through the patches of brush, swearing and hissing under his breath as tree branch collided roughly with his forehead, and scrambled over a moss-covered log before approaching Harry, sending leaves flying about his feet.

"Hey," he said gently, crouching down beside Harry's huddled, shivering form, placing a hand on his shoulder and scooting gracelessly onto the damp floor of the woods. "It's chilly, Harry. You'll catch cold."

"I don't care," Harry mumbled, his lips moshed into the fabric of his jeans as he rested his forehead on his knees. "Colds makes sense. I need things in my life that make sense." Niall chuckled slightly, rolling his eyes.

"C'mon, Haz, you're talking rubbish," he said, rubbing Harry's shoulder gently. Harry simply wished he would go away, wished everyone would go away, because the hand comforting him, warming him, was not the hand he wanted to feel.

He wanted to touch that smooth, muscular, tawny hands; the hands with skin the colour of caramel; the hands with the thin, nimble fingers and the soft palms. He wanted to feel Louis's hands. It would never happen, however. Harry's feelings for Louis, he was sure, would take a dark toll on their...whatever type of relationship they had, and Harry knew that whatever damage it made, it would irreparable. Best friends did not have feelings for each other, and Louis would never, ever have feelings for Harry. Never. Harry swallowed loudly, trying with great difficulty and failing to force down the painful lump growing in his throat.

"Want to tell me what's up?" Niall asked lightly, his pale hand squeezing Harry's shoulder gently, just as Louis always did whenever Harry seemed unnerved. Harry's lips parting and ragged, shallow breaths whispering from his mouth, he shook his head, his green eyes locked blankly on a thicket of brambles situated a few metres off form where they sat. Niall sighed quietly, and Harry turned slightly to see his clear blue eyes raking their way across Harry's face, eyeing every crease and every inch. "It's Lou, isn't it?" he asked hesitantly, biting his lip.

Harry opened his mouth, prepared to deny anything to do with Louis, to deny that Louis was anything more than a friend to him, to deny that Harry cared for him more than he had ever cared for anything, but as his lips moved dryly against each other, he found that he couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to himself anymore. His jaw tightened as his throat contracted, and his face, so wide with realization a moment ago, flooded with agitation and the small, hot space behind his eyes began to burn with moisture. His lips contorted with repressed sobs, and Niall, foreseeing what was about to come, let concern fill his features as he opened his arms to his friend. Harry let himself topple into Niall's chest, his head curling into the soft fabric of Niall's jacket.

"Harry, it'll be okay," he mumbled, his arms tightening around the lad in his grasp, clutching him closely to his frame. Harry was comforted by Niall's gesture. it was nice to feel some form of honest, pure, simple friendship again, rather than the confusion emotions he had been feeling recently when he was caught in Lou's embrace, but he could not shake the feeling that he felt extraordinarily out of place in Niall's arms, in comparison to how he felt in Lou's.

"I knew it," Niall said quietly in Harry's ear, and Harry shook violently in his grasp, trembling with stifled whimpers, struggling to keep himself together, yet knowing he was failing. He knew he would not have bothered to make such an effort with Louis. He was not afraid to let Louis see him in his weakest, most vulnerable form; he was comforted, in fact, by the actuality that, with at least one other person, he could completely be himself and know he would never be judged for it.

Now...What would things be like? Would Harry be afraid to look Louis in those ocean-blue eyes? Would he be hesitant to crawl into Lou's arms late at night after he'd had a night terror? Would he be weary, stiff, uncomfortable when Louis, in return, curled into Harry's lap during the next power outage? I don't want to lose him, He realised. I can't lose him...

"How?" he whispered, his voice cracking through the crisp, silent air. "How did you know?"

"Harry," Niall chuckled, "It wasn't exactly hard to tell."

"What..." Harry said, clearing his throat, his eyebrows furrowing. "What are you saying..."

"Haz, I see the way you are with each other. We all do," Niall shrugged. "You cuddle, you kiss each other's noses, you play with each other's hair, you sing together, you can literally tell each other anything, and when you look at each other, it makes everyone else in the room feel invisible. It's not exactly subtle," he said, smiling sheepishly into Harry's face. Harry's cheeks flooded with mingled shame and embarrassment. Had he honestly been that obvious? Well, Niall had made at least one incorrect observation; whereas he could not have been more plain with his feelings, they would never be mutual. Louis would never return them. "I...I've never seen too people so completely enamoured with each other," Niall added with a nervous chuckle.

"You're wrong," Harry whispered, and Niall groaned with frustration as he opened his mouth, and Harry knew he was about to insist that Harry was being dishonest with himself, but he raised a hand, clamping it on the lad's shoulder before he could interrupt. "You're wrong about him. We both know that I...That I feel things for Louis that I shouldn't...You're not mistaken there," he croaked, swallowing loudly, his cheeks reddening with shame. "But...He'll never feel...He won't...He could never think of me in the same way." he whispered, his jaw clenching tightly as his eyes glazed and he rested his chin on his knees.

"You really think so?" Niall asked lightly. "You really think his eyes don't light up like the sun whenever you walk through the door? You really think he's not a bloody pain in the arse, always so whiny when you're not with him?" he chuckled, and Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You really think he doesn't gaze at you as if you were God?" Niall asked softly, and Harry's death caught in his chest. This wasn't healthy...Niall shouldn't be saying these things...Louis didn't feel that way about Harry. He knew that. Telling him things like that would only get his hopes up, and only cause him more pain.

"Please, stop," he hushed him desperately, letting his eyes flutter shut.

"Harry," Niall sighed with frustration. "I know I can be a blithering berk, and I know I over analyzing things a lot. I may be daft at times," he continued, "But I'm not blind."

Harry's lip quivered, and his face very slowly scrunched with emotion as the moisture bubbling hotly behind his eyes brimmed beneath his eyelids.

"Aw, Harry," Niall sighed, catching sight of the look on his friend's face and scooting slightly nearer to him, wrapping a friendly, warm arm around his shoulder and tugging him gently into his grasp. This hug was extraordinarily different from any he had ever shared with Louis. Harry felt as if he were hugging a brother, or a cousin, or his best friend. His heart did not thrum against his chest like a hummingbird's wings. His cheeks did not flush with heat as his forehead nuzzled Niall's. His stomach did not undergo the familiar, surprising swooping sensation, so ominous yet so...welcome. Part of Harry was thankful that he had finally come to term with the strange feelings he had been experiencing, finally realised just what they meant. Part of him hated himself for the meaning behind those feelings; hated himself for feeling them in the first place. "I know what you're thinking, Harry," Niall said sternly as Harry's body was racked with stifled sobs. "And don't you dare go on thinking that."

"You don't get it," Harry whimpered. "I'm losing him. Louis's the best thing that ever happened to me, and because of me, I'm going to lose him. Why do I have to fuck everything up all the time, Niall?" Harry choked, a tear leaking over the rim of his eyelid and pattering across his cheek.

"Shh," Niall hushed him gently, imitating him from moments ago. "Harry, the only you've done is fallen in love. There's nothing wrong with that." Harry squeezed his eyes hut as tightly as he could, wishing everything and everyone would just disappear, taking the world and all of its mangled confusion with it.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," He whispered, his lips mumbling against the fabric of Niall's jacket. "We were supposed to be best friends."

"Harry," Niall said, and he could practically hear him rolling his eyes, "You were never best friends, trust me." Harry blinked in surprise before he buried his face into Niall's shoulder, ashamed.

"I don't want to feel this way about him," Harry admitted. "I want to back to when everything was easy, to when we were closer than brothers."

"Oh? And when exactly was that, Haz?" Niall asked smartly, leaning back slightly to stare challengingly into Harry's face. Harry bit his lip, salty with tears, and sniffled as he struggled to think back to a time when Louis had never made him feel as if the world revolved around him, as if a thousand butterflies were mingling in his belly, as if, for once, he was truly worth something. He swallowed, his breath whistling shallowly through his lips, jabbing his chest painfully, as he realised dimly that he could not remember such a time. Niall was right.

"I...I don't know... Jesus, Nialler, what's wrong with me?" he sight pathetically, whipping the back of his hand across his red cheek.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Harry, and there never will be," Niall soothed him sympathetically. "It's not a crime to have feelings for another person." Harry knew that. He knew that he couldn't help his feelings. But Louis wasn't just another person. Louis was Louis, and that made all the difference.

"But he's Louis," Harry whimpered, speaking his thoughts aloud. Niall smiled knowingly into Harry's face, a pleased glint in his blue eyes.

"All the more reason," he whispered in Harry's ear before climbing to his feet and extending his hand towards the pathetic mess of a boy scattered across the dead leaves. "Come on, Haz. Dinner will be ready soon." Harry shook his head, his throat tightening and his mind wrapping messily around what Niall adjust said.

All the more reason.

Harry didn't know much, but one thing he knew for sure was that he needed time to think, to pull himself together before facing the boy with the blue eyes.

"I can't," Harry mumbled pathetically. "Please, Niall...Just let me think. I'll come back when I'm ready."

"But...." Niall seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, his lips parted and his hands hovering uncertainly over the boy huddled before him, but the moment, his blue eyes softened, and he nodded with a sigh. "All right," he said reluctantly. "But don't stay out too long, Harry; it's getting chilly."

"I won't," Harry whispered. Niall pursed his lips, bending to caress Harry's shoulder gently with his hand before nodding politely in his direction and turning on his heel. Harry let a long, shuddering break stream from his nose as he pressed his lips gently to the rough denim of his jeans, listening to the gradually fading crunch and tear of dead leaves as Niall trudged through the patch of woods, back to the house. A choked sob racked his chest and throat, compressing his being, forming a dull, vague ache in his ribs, and when he was sure the sound of Niall's footsteps had died quietly, he parted his dry lips and let his anguish fall from in his lips in a broken, mangled cry.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, so tightly that small, bright, painful stars burst into blurry bloom across the blackness of his vision, so tightly that, as his face tautened, his breath fell in rattly wisps from his trembling lips, and a vague, familiar drowsiness fogged the edges of his mind, he almost forgot about the boy with blue eyes.

Almost.

 

❡❡❡

 

Louis had listened when Niall had told him to keep his distance from Harry. He had thought, after the young lad's crack-up in the rehearsal room, that he needed nothing more than a bit of time to clear his head. Of what, Louis had no idea. All he knew was that harry was distressed, and that the best thing to do at the moment had been to back off and give him a moment or two on his own. It had been two hours, however, since he had stormed out of the rehearsal room, confusion filling his face, and Louis had not seen him since.

He was beginning to worry. He knew he had no reason to do so; Harry was sixteen years old- He was perfectly capable of looking after himself, right? Right? He peered anxiously out the window of the common room, his hazel eyes roaming over the muggy, wooded landscape, locking momentarily on the thick, bitter billows of grey brewing murkily in the pale sky overhead. He caught no sight of the familiar, soft brown curls, or the thick fabric of a grey beanie between the densely packed trees looming over the hillside. It had to be old out there, in the biting evening wind. Where on earth could he be, and why wasn't he inside? Louis sighed, biting his lip in disquiet and turning from the window.

"Lou? It's dinner time," Matt said to him as he strode past the door of the common room. Louis forced a tight smile, nodding. He shuffled tiredly into the kitchen, huddling around the counter, crowded with serving dishes and platters, and grabbed a paper plate from the stack sitting on the kitchen table.

"Hey, Louis," Liam grinned, clapping Lou on the shoulder as he piled mash onto his own plate, the potatoes sending small, gentle puffs of steam into the air.

"Hey," Louis replied, not meeting his friend's eye, and he leaned past him evasively to slide a slice of turkey onto the sturdy paper.

"You all right?" Liam frowned picking up on Louis's mood at once, and Louis sighed, pursing his lips.

"I'm fine," he muttered, diverting his gaze and letting Liam know that he was not in the mood to chat. Liam's honey-coloured eyes narrowed slightly, but he otherwise did not push Louis further. He nodded reluctantly and turned to fill a glass of water in the sink.

"What's wrong with Lou?" he heard Liam mutter anxiously to Zayn and Niall as they sauntered into the kitchen, Zayn with a comb clutched in one hand and Niall with an idiotic grin on his lips. Zayn shrugged, snatching up his own plate in between his fingers and beginning to heap fruit salad onto it surface.

"Hey, look," he said suddenly, jabbing a dark finger in the direction of the counter. "It's sweet corn. Harry would love that; where is he?"

"Yeah," Louis said darkly, glancing up to glare at Niall from beneath his fringe of feathery hair. "I was wondering the same thing myself." Niall froze as his gaze met Lou's. He swallowed, his Adam's Apple bobbing nervously in his throat. His eyes flitted back and forth between Liam and Zayn before he scooted across the floor to Louis.

"You mean he's not back yet?" the lad asked anxiously.

"No," Louis growled. "Niall, what happened? Why is he out there?"

"He just needed to think, I told you," Niall insisted, his face slowly filling with panic.

"Does that take two hours?" Louis challenged, and Niall's eyebrows furrowed. He was saved the task of answering as the gentle, slow patter of rain drops began to sound against the roof of the house. "Great," Louis sighed as the speed of the drops gradually increased. "I'm going to go find him." He set his half-filled plate down on the counter, buttoning up his jacket.

"Lou, I dunno if that's a good idea," Niall gulped.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Nialler, would you rather Harry die of pneumonia?" Louis asked sweetly, and Niall grimaced.

"Can I have your mash?" he asked hopefully as Louis started for the kitchen door, and Louis waved a hand carelessly behind him to let Niall know that it was fine with him. His body shuddered with an involuntary shiver as he breezed through the back door and stepped from the warm, comfy atmosphere of the house and into the frigid, biting air, heavy with moisture. He muttered darkly to himself as he stuffed his hands in the deep pockets of his pea coat and shuffled rigidly across the damp ground and towards the thicket of woods looming ahead. Harry had never been too bothered by the cold. Well, what was to be expected? Half the time he was naked.

Louis's teeth began to chatter as he wove through the trees, tucking his chin into his chest and stepping clumsily over broken branches.

"Harry?" he called desperately, looking around the woods, but all seemed quiet. "Harry? Harry, where are you?" He sighed as he trundled through the woods, cursing occasionally as a twig scratched his face or when he stubbed his toe. "Harry? This is isn't funny," he called uncertainly, although he had a vague feeling that Harry didn't think so either.

Where was he? He let a frustrated huff escape his mouth, and his eyebrows furrowed with annoyance at the cold and the lack of Harry's presence.

"Honestly," he sighed as he pressed his arms firmly to his torso, a shudder racking his body as the rain began pelting heavily over London, huge, wet drops thumping lightly against his skin and soaking strands of his hair. He blinked as the moisture hit his long eyelashes, and he scowled, ducking his head slightly to protect his face.

"Harry? Please, answer me!" He begged, shouting through the air. He was not expecting an answer. He assumed he would hear nothing but the constant, ambient sound of rain drumming against the soft ground, loud patters echoing throughout the woods as it hit the dry leaves.

Therefore, he nearly had an aneurysm when a weak, quiet, shaky voice accompanied the noises of the earth.

"Boo?"


	17. Firefly

"Boo?"  

A shock ran down Louis's spine, his hazel eyes widening with alarm as the quiet, choked voice cut through the dull patter of rain over the woods.  He gasped, his shoulders hunching instinctively as the sound startled him.  And he squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a moment, taking a deep breath as he recovered.  

"Harry?" he replied desperately, letting his eyes flutter open once more as they tore across his surroundings.  

"Here," the voice croaked weakly, and Louis spun around, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration, and he squinted through the downpour to see a familiar, deep shade of purple peering from behind a thick tree.  Louis shuffled quickly through to soggy, torn leaves and around the tree.  He looked down to see the huddled, drenched form of Harry bundled into a pathetic, sopping mound on the floor of the woods.  

"Haz," Louis said wretchedly, gazing helplessly down at him and lowering into a crouch beside him.  He did not hesitate to wrap his cold, wet hand around Harry's shoulder, squeezing gently, and a sudden, small shock of sadness bit at his chest when Harry cringed from his touch, his muscles tensing immediately.  Louis frowned, determine to comfort him.  He draped his arm across Harry's shoulders and cupped his fingers around the base of his neck, knowing exactly which places to touch in order to calm Harry.  What on earth was going on; what had Harry experienced in the past hour to make him seem so...distant?  

As Louis's fingers kneaded and rubbed the sore muscles of Harry's neck, however, he gradually felt Harry begin to relax beneath him, although his head was still bent slightly in a tense, defensive position.  

"Oh, Harry, why are you out here in the rain?  It's been hours," Louis said quietly, looking concernedly into Harry's face.  Frankly, he looked like he'd been through the ringer.  His curls were laying limply atop his head, plastered and dripping down his forehead, sending dribbles of rainwater trickling onto his long, brown eyelashes, causing them to clod messily together.  His cheekbones and the whites of his eyes were pink and raw, as if he had been rubbing them vigorously.  

Somehow, even with a swollen face and knotted hair, Louis still found himself thinking that he looked...Beautiful.  

_Well, he_ is  _beautiful,_ Louis thought defensively.   _Anyone in their right mind would agree._ He had never thought differently.  Surely, he could find his friends attractive without  it meaning anything, couldn't he? ...Couldn't he?  

Yet then again, Harry wasn't a normal friend.  He wasn't even like a brother to Louis.  He was...Harry was...

Louis swallowed dryly as he realised he was lost for words as to describe Harry.  Harry was simply  _Harry_ , and that would, always,  _always_ be good enough for Louis. The question was, would Louis be good enough in return?  

"Fell asleep," Harry mumbled, his voice slightly trembling as his lips shuddered.  As Louis's hazel eyes roamed anxiously over his lips, it dawned on him just how pale they were.  He sighed.  If Harry had been huddled here, no ability to shiver for warmth in his unconscious state, there was a very good chance he was ill.  

"Let's get you inside," Louis said quietly, but Harry's face crumpled pathetically, his green eyes widening in anguish, and he lay his head down on his knees.  Louis bit his lip, a rush of sympathy and sadness for the boy biting his chest.  "Come on, Harry, you can't stay out here, you idiot," he said with a breathy, affectionate laugh.  "Let's go."  He slid his hands beneath Harry's shoulders, lifting him gently under the arms, and Harry struggled weakly.  

"No," he croaked, his voice hoarse and raspy.  "I can't.  Please, Lou, just..." He trailed off, diverting his gaze from Louis's.

Louis bit back another sigh as he brought his lips to Harry's ear, whispering, "It's okay.  I've got you."  Harry seemed to contemplate resisting for a moment, before he realised that he was in no position to grapple, and he let himself go limp in Louis's grasp.  

"There," Louis murmured gently, grunting slightly as he lifted Harry to his feet and wrapped his arm tightly around his waist, the soaking fabric of his hoodie dampening the sleeve of Louis's jacket.  Harry leaned instinctively into him, closing his eyes and breathing shallowly as Louis helped him slowly through the woods, his fingers tightening on Harry's side, giving his waist a reassuring squeeze every now and then.  

"It'll be okay," he kept muttering as he hoisted the boy up the hillside and towards the house.  

He absolutely  _hated_  seeing Harry like this; in so much obvious pain.  What on earth could have driven him to sit in the freezing cold and rain for hours, to avoid everyone in the house, to cry and claw at his face until it was sorer and pinker than Cher's eyeshadow?  It was something Louis had done, he was sure.  Whatever had happened in the rehearsal room,  _that_  had been the cause of Harry's breakdown.  Louis bit his lip, wondering what could have been going through his mind.  Was it something he had said?  

Louis had no idea; all he knew was that he could not stand to see Harry so broken.  It wasn't right.  He needed to comfort him, to let him know that he would always take care of him.  

"It's so cold," Harry shuddered, his lips mashing together as he shivered, and Louis's face tautened as he listened to him tremble.  

"I know," he hushed him, rubbing his palm thickly over his side, hoping to create some friction and warm him.  "We're almost inside."  Louis shifted Harry more firmly into his arm and helped him up the steps of the back porch, tugging him gently to the door and shuffling inside.  

"Harry!  There you--Blimey, what happened?" Liam asked as they stepped into the bustling kitchen, where it seemed the contestants were just finishing up dinner.  

"He just dozed off outside," Louis said quietly, shooting Liam a pointed look and letting him know that he was not about to offer any legitimate explanation.  Liam's forehead creased, but he nodded, the corner of his lip turning downward.  

"Haz?" Niall asked quietly, hurrying forward to put a hand on Harry's arm and survey him carefully.  Louis watched with mingled confusion and irritation as the blue eyes met green, and they shared a meaningful glance.  Niall nodded slightly to himself as Harry grimaced.  Louis's eyes narrowed, and he found himself wishing that Niall would remove his hand.  

What was he thinking?  It wasn't as if Harry was his, under his possession.  Yet, the other lads did not  _have_  what he and Harry had.  Clearly, that had to ensure some sort of ownership over him, didn't it?  Didn't it?

 Louis bit his lip, knowing that the reasons behind his rash thinking were only based on the fact that he was terrified of losing Harry.  He had never been so happy before, and he did not want that taken away from him. He clenched his teeth as he waited for Niall to drop his hand, and when he did, Louis sighed slightly, frustrated with himself.  Harry's eyes finally left Niall's, and the Irish lad removed his palm from his arm.  

"Lou, he's freezing.  Get him in bed," he said fretfully, his eyes lingering as Louis's did on Harry's pale lips, and Louis nodded.  

"Come on," he murmured lowly in Harry's ear, and he pulled him gently up the stairs and to their room.  "Let's get you out of those clothes," he said, and as he turned to the dresser to fetch a dry sweater from the drawer, he saw Harry freeze in his peripheral vision, his green eyes widening with alarm.  

"What's wrong?" Louis asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he grabbed what he knew to be Harry's favourite sweatshirt and strode back to the sopping boy.  Harry merely shook his head, swallowing, and Louis shrugged to himself as he handed him the sweatshirt.  Harry mumbled a hoarse thanks and tugged his wet hoodie over his head.  Louis's hazel eyes snapped onto the small, lean muscles in his stomach, and he chuckled at the sight of Harry's two extra, lop-sidded nipples.  Harry glanced down at his chest, and his cheeks turned bright red as he turned away from Louis.  Louis sighed, wondering why Harry was suddenly behaving so aloofly.  Whatever it may be, he only hoped it would end quickly.  

He didn't like this new manner.  He missed the old Harry, the Harry who would grin as he rested his chin on his shoulder, the Harry who smiled like an idiot when Louis ran his hands through his curls, the Harry who teased him when Louis made a terrible joke.  He brushed the thought away, sure that the old harry would return soon, at least when he was feeling better.   Harry tugged the sweatshirt over his shoulders and pulled it loosely onto his chest, his limbs shaking feebly, and he stepped slowly out of his jeans and boxers and into a pair of flannel pyjama pants sitting on the floor.  Louis smiled vaguely.  If there was one thing about Harry that would never change, it was his sheer, strange love of nudity.  Nothing, not even possible trench foot, would ever phase that.  

When Harry had finished changing, Louis strode quickly to his side and grabbed his arm.  He eyed the ladder leading to Harry's bed and Harry's shaken state, and he sighed.  

"Why don't you sleep in my bed?" he asked quietly as he led him to the low bunk and tugged back his mussed blankets, so messy and disorganized compared to the neat, nicely tucked state of Harry's bed.  Harry did not reply, he only sniffled pathetically as Louis sat down on the edge of the mattress and towed Harry down beside him, draping the thick, warm comforter over his thin, pale body and tucking it gently around his shoulders.

As his fingers pressed the fabric of the sheets into the pillow near Harry's head, they gently brushed Harry's cheek, and he realised just how very cold his skin was.  Louis repressed a shiver and finished adjusting the blankets before looking helplessly down at the pathetic boy.  He suddenly seemed so...young.  Not in the sense of energy and youth, but in the sense of looking so incredibly weak and vulnerable, and it bothered Louis.  He sighed as the quiet, vague sound of Harry's chattering teeth punctured the air.  

"Haz, what the hell were you thinking?" he asked gently as he gazed sternly down at him.  Harry opened and closed his lips hesitantly, and he shook his head.  Louis frowned slightly.  he wanted more than anything to speak to him, to know what was wrong so he could comfort him.  But it was clear that Harry was in no mood to spill the beans at the moment, and Louis supposed he ought to respect that.  In any rate, he would find out sooner or later.  Nothing came between he and Harry, and he would make sure things  _stayed_  that way.  

"Never mind, we'll talk later," Louis said quietly, giving Harry an understanding smile, and Harry nodded gratefully, his ice-white face still tinged with tender red patches.  "What are we going to do with you?" Louis chuckled affectionately, looking fondly down on the broken boy lying before him, and Harry swallowed.  "I better go get you a hot pack," Louis continued, moving to stand up.  He blinked in surprise, wincing slightly as a swathe of stiff, ice cold fingers wrapped limply around his wrist.  

"Please don't go," Harry whispered, and Louis turned to see that a look of desperation had formed in those green eyes.  His own eyes softened gently as he glanced down at Harry.  If Harry wanted him to stay, then he would stay.  Of course he would.  He smiled and sat back down on the bed, scooching backwards until he was sitting beside Harry's head, his back resting against the wall.  

"I'm not going anywhere," he said determinedly, and Harry's cold fingers slipped slowly from Louis's wrist to his palm.  Louis's hands had warmed by then, and although he was still slightly damp from the downpour, the heat of his skin on Harry's must have been a comfort.  In any case, his slender fingers curled gently in Louis's palm, lightly hooking around his thumb, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he shivered violently beneath the sheets.  Louis bit his lip, watching the ominous quivering of his body.  He should have stopped shivering by now, shouldn't he?  "Liam?" he called hesitantly, his eyes locked on Harry's troubled face, and a few moments later, Liam appeared in the doorway.  

"Hiya," he said, his cheerful face falling slightly as he caught sight of the trembling Harry.  "Blimey, he must not feel too good." He added, and Louis shook his head.  

"He's freezing.  I don't think that's quite right."  he said, and Liam frowned, walking across the room to perch lightly on the edge of the mattress.  

"Haz?  Are you still cold?" he asked gently, and Harry's damp eyelashes fluttered open, and he nodded, his chin brushing the hem of Louis's comforter.  Liam pressed the back of his hand to Harry's cheek.  "How long was he out there for?" He asked anxiously.  

"A bit over two hours.  It started raining in about the last twenty minutes." Louis answered.  Liam pursed his lips.  

"I'm no doctor," he said, "But if you ask me, that's a bit too long to be outside in the cold, especially in November."  Louis nodded.  

"I thought so too."  

"Maybe he's got some mild hypothermia," Liam shrugged, and he gently tugged back the blanket to press his hand to Harry's chest.  After a long moment, he nodded.  "Yep.  His heart rate's pretty quick.  I'll get you a rice bag, yeah?"  

"Thanks," Louis sighed as Liam stood up and started out the door.  

"Don't go," Harry breathed once more, his warm breath falling across his and Louis's intertwined fingers, and Louis nodded.  

"I won't," he whispered, raising his other hand and gently brushing the dark, wet strands of hair from Harry's forehead, and Harry shuddered beneath his touch.  Louis smiled as he realised that some of his sopping hair had already begun to curl.  As Louis's hand relaxed over Harry's frigid skin, Harry tensed, his throat tightening visibly and his forehead creasing anxiously at Louis's touch, and Louis's eyes grew only more anxious.  Harry had never reacted any way less than blissfully to Louis's touches.  Why was he suddenly so uncomfortable?

 Louis's teeth clenched determinedly, and his palm pressed gently into Harry's cheek, shaping around his jaw, and he ran a warm, smooth thumb softly over Harry's skin.  As the moments passed, the smooth motion of Louis's strokes and the heat emanating from his hand gradually relaxed Harry, and Louis smiled triumphantly as the boy sighed softly before dropping any resolve and nuzzling into Louis's palm, still quivering slightly with cold.   Louis sighed with relief as Liam reappeared in the room's entrance, a rice bag in his arms.  He stopped short, his lips parting slightly as his honey-coloured eyes locked on the two boys huddled on the mattress, and a knowing arch curved his brow.  Louis's eyes narrowed, and Liam wiped his face of emotion before sidling into the room and handing Louis the rice bag.  

"Put that over his neck, but dont' let it touch his skin.  His heart rate should come down and he should be warming up in a bit." he said, trying very hard to sound nonchalant.  

"How are you always so smart?" Louis smiled, and Liam grinned.  

"It's what I do.  Take good care of him, all right?  Simon would be pissed if we lost a band member."  Louis's cheerful face blackened, and Liam put his hands up in defense, eyes widening in mingled alarm and amusement.  "Whoa, Lou, I was kidding!  I'll see you around," he chuckled as he left the room once more.  

"Here," Louis said gently, lifting the comforter slightly and draping the heavy rice bag over the fabric and across Harry's neck.  Harry sighed softly as the heat enveloped him, and Louis smiled with relief.  "Don't ever do that to me again, okay, Harry?" he asked in a small voice.  "You scared me for a minute there."  Harry simply mumbled in reply.  "What was that?" Louis asked, frowning as he angled his ear int he direction of Harry's mouth.  

"M'cold," Harry murmured in distress.  Louis blinked, trying to figure out whether Harry was changing the subject, or whether he was in such discomfort that he felt the need to interrupt their one-ended conversation.  Louis pursed his lips and let the back of his hand skim lightly across Harry's forehead, and he sighed as he realised that the boy's skin was still chilled. 

"We're doing all we can, Harry," he said sadly.  "Niall's turned up the heat, you've got the only rice bag in the house...What else can we do?"  

"Cuddle me?" Harry whimpered childishly.  Louis's eyes widened slightly, before a smile broke across his lips.  Finally, Harry was expressing the mutual need to be close to him, and he was suggesting that they do something they always did together.  Maybe, for once, things would feel normal again.  

"Of course, Hazza," he said, and he smiled as he kicked off his soaking boots and clambered clumsily across the mattress, wriggling beneath the comforter and curling gently around the boy beside him.  "Youch, Harry, you're freezing," he hissed with indignation as Harry's cold skin came into contact with his own.  

"Can't help it," Harry grunted, his eyes fluttering shut as he quivered, yet as he edged slowly closer to Louis, his shivering slowed, and after a few long, quiet moments, the only symptom of cold he was showing was the fierce trembling of his pale lips.  

"Better?" Louis murmured, laying his cheek down on the pillow he shared with Harry, his nose brushing Harry's wet, damp curls, and Harry nodded slightly.  "Good," Louis breathed, his hot breath rushing over Harry's ear and cheek, and Harry sighed, turning his head gently in Louis's direction.  Louis frowned as another violent shiver racked Harry's body.  "C'mere," he said gruffly, extending an arm beneath the comforter and wrapping his hand around Harry's cold shoulder, tugging him securely into the curve created by his body.  Harry immediately pressed himself tightly against Louis, desperate for warmth.  

"It's so cold," he mumbled again, and Louis sighed, wrapping his arm tightly around Harry's shoulder, locking him in his grip.  

"I know, I'm sorry, Haz," he said softly.  "You'll feel better soon."  

He should have been angry at Harry for letting this happen, for letting himself fall under such wary circumstances, but as his fading blue eyes roamed over the gentle flutter of Harry's long eyelashes and the soft tremor of his pale pink lips, he knew that he couldn't possibly be upset with Harry, knew that he could  _never_  be so.  Harry was Harry, always so incredibly naive and unknowing, always so slow on the update of whatever was going on...Maybe not quite innocent, but always caring and moral and sweet.  Louis was so incredibly grateful for Harry.  All he knew was that, as his grip tightened around the weak boy lying in his arms, he would never let him go.  

"Lou?" Harry croaked, his eyes remaining shut as he spoke.  

"What is it, Haz?" Louis murmured against Harry's slowly drying curls.  

"Will you sing for me?" Harry whispered, his milky cheeks tingeing slightly with Louis assumed was embarrassment.  

Sing?  Louis couldn't sing.  Despite what Harry had told him earlier, he knew now that he had no talent as a vocal artist.  Louis opened and closed his lips, searching for a reasonable objection, but he sighed, realising he could not find one.  If Harry wanted him to sing, then sing he would.  

"Anything," he sighed sincerely, propping himself up on one elbow and leaning quietly over Harry, swallowing nervously.  

"Go," Harry urged impatiently after a moment, and Louis chuckled, his eyebrows shooting up.  

"Well, well, then, your majesty," he said, and Harry smiled shyly, his eyes still closed.  Louis glanced gently down at the gesture, his eyes focusing on the small, lopsided dimples denting his cheeks and the gentle, shadowed curve of his lips.  He looked so amazing when he smiled.  Hell, he looked amazing when he wasn't smiling at all....

"If...If I don't say this now, I will surely break," he began quietly, frowning and coughing slightly as his voice hitched unpleasantly in his throat.  He really was terrible... "As I'm leaving the one...the one I want to take..."  He cleared his throat, pressing his hand to his chest and furrowing his eyebrows in frustration.  Harry sighed softly through his nose, and he slowly extended his arm to snatch Louis's hand from his chest. 

"Louis," he whispered, his eyes opening and his piercing, round green irises filling Louis's frame of vision.  "Stop trying so hard.  Just sing for me."  Louis looked down at him, biting his lip, overwhelmed by the soft green, and Harry gave him a tiny smile.  That was all Louis needed.  He nodded, his fingers tightening around Harry's, and he opened his lips and began to sing once more.  Ordinarily, he might have been a bit self-conscious, singing in front of someone like that, when their attention was so plainly focused on him.  But once again, this was  _Harry_  they were talking about.  He would never be uncomfortable around Harry.  

"Forget the urgency but hurry up and wait, my heart has started to separate...Whoa, whoa, be my baby, and I'll look after you."  Harry closed his eyes again as Louis's voice filled his ears, and he smiled gently to himself, Lou's thumb tucked loosely in his palm as he listened to the song.  "Whoa, whoa, be my baby, and I'll look after you," Louis continued quietly, and Harry sighed happily.  Louis watched as he relaxed in Louis's arms, and as the colour returned to his lips and blood flushed his cheeks, he could only assume that he had retained his body heat.  

"You're...You've got a beautiful voice, Lou," Harry mumbled seriously, and Louis's heart minisculey began to thrum the slightest bit more quickly in his chest. A part of him knew dismally that Harry was lying to make him feel better, that he was simply doing what everyone had; yet, the honesty, the adoration in his best mate's voice...It was so, so  _clear..._ Beautiful.

"Will you look after me, Boobear?" Harry whispered childishly, his round, green eyes opening once more as he gazed up at Louis, his strawberry-coloured lips forming a gentle pout.  

"Always," Louis murmured without hesitation, his voice dripping with fervent sincerity as he lowered himself slowly to press a soft kiss to Harry's forehead.  His skin was still a bit cooler than it perhaps should have been, but the difference was obvious.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, closing his eyes at Lou's touch, his lashes fluttering wildly and his cheeks slowly beginning to regain their peachy blush.  

"How're you feeling?" Louis asked gently, his stare locking solidly, tenderly on Harry's young face.  He may look more mature and wise when he was alert and strong, but in slumber and weakness, he looked as pure and young as a child; his dimples denting his smooth, rosy cheeks and his eyelashes soft and long as they brushed the apples of his profile.    

"Better," Harry sighed, and Louis nodded satisfactorily.  

"How's your heart rate?" he asked, untangling his fingers from Harry's and pressing them lightly against the thin fabric of the boy's sweatshirt, just below his slim collarbone.  He blinked as Harry's breath caught in his throat.  Louis laid his head down carefully on Harry's chest, pressing his ear tightly to his torso, closing his eyes as he listened to the dull, solid beat of his heart.  As he rested his hand lightly on Harry's waist and let a long, warm breath trickle from his lips, the rhythm grew in haste, and his heart began thrumming quickly beneath Louis's touch.  

"It's still pretty fast, are you sure you're okay?" Louis asked innocently as he removed his head from Harry's chest and glanced down into the wide eyes of the boy lying beneath him.  

"I'm absolutely perfect." he whispered hoarsely, and Louis blinked in surprise before smiling gently into his face and laying his head back down on Harry's shoulder.  He closed his eyes, sighing contentedly as the gradually increasing warmth of Harry's skin spread through Louis's.  Soft, tepid whirs of air tickled the top of Louis's head as Harry breathed quietly, and in a moment of impulse, Louis pulled his hand from beneath the comforter and let it snake over the pillow, his fingers slithering between the damp strands of Harry's hair, twining the curls around his forefinger.  Once again, Harry tensed at his gesture, and Louis, his lips pursing in frustration, ran his hand soothingly through his hair in an effort to calm him.  As he knew he would, Harry slowly relaxed, and by the time his eyes had closed once more and his breathing had slowed, Louis was smiling again.  

He didn't know what it was, but there was one thing about him that made Louis so incredibly happy to lie here in arms, feeling perfectly safe and wanted, as if the world revolved around  _him._

This...It just felt so  _right._ So completely flawless.  

As he nuzzled his nose gently into the pulse beating lightly in Harry's neck, inhaling the familiar, wonderful scent of sandalwood and musk laced with fresh rainwater, a blissful, warm feeling ignited in his chest, spreading slowly throughout his body like a pad of soft butter melting on a skillet.  

He didn't have any idea what that feeling was.  All he knew was that he never, ever wanted it to go away.   No, as long as Harry was there, solidly by his side, he knew he could never ask for anything more. 

 

❡❡❡

 

Harry was confused.

He frankly had no idea where he was.  
Why was his heart beating so fast?   
Why was did he feel so incredibly cozy and warm?   
Why was a vague, calm smattering of butterflies fluttering around his abdomen?   
And why was a thick, tell-tale blush creeping its way across Harry's cheeks?

His eyes flitted slowly open, and as he turned his head, something incredibly lush and soft brushed his cheek.  He glanced down in surprise to see a head of smooth, feathery, caramel-coloured hair resting on his chest, and as a pair of strong, thick, warm arms tightened around his waist, he realised that Louis Tomlinson was snuggled cozily into his side.

_Oh,_ he thought vaguely, his hear rate increasing every faster in his chest as his cheeks burned brightly.  _That's why._

Harry felt afraid; afraid to move, should Louis wake and abandon his position in Harry's arms; afraid of Louis's reaction towards what had happened a few hours ago; and last but not least, afraid of himself, and the feelings he had for the boy now draped happily across his chest.   He was  _furious_ with himself.  How could he have blundered on and cuddled up to Louis like an abandoned teddy bear?  He was pathetic, and he knew should not have done something so incredibly  _stupid_ when his feelings for Lou were so strong, and so...unfriendly.  

On the other hand, Harry knew any efforts he made to stay away from Louis would be in vain.  He was certain of one thing; the moment Louis had held him in his arms and sang to him, his sweet voice careening through the small, empty room, Harry had been a goner.  He closed his eyes, his face burning with shame as he lay in the grasp of Louis.  The boy's fingers twitched slightly, brushing softly against Harry's sides and sending small, sweet shocks running through his middle.  

God, he was in over his head.

He simply sighed as the vague sound of rain pattered against the roof overhead, and he tucked his chin into his collar and watched Louis sleep, his face changing as he dreamed, his eyes moving beneath his lids and sending his lashes flitting over his cheeks.  Harry watched as the corner of his rosy lips angled upward, shifting into a delighted little smile, and a small dimple formed in his chin.  A small, sudden breath escaped his mouth, causing his soft, feathery fringe of hair to flutter gently over his forehead.  He was so breathtakingly beautiful.  He was perfection, in every form.  How was it that Louis himself was blind to that?  

"Hazza." Harry froze as a sweet, groggy, smooth murmur resounded through the smattering of rain sounding above.  Green eyes wide, his heart pumping loudly in his ears, he glanced down at the sleeping form of Louis, his cheek nuzzled closely into Harry's chest, his arms tight around his waist.  What had he just said?  Harry gulped as Louis mumbled incomprehensibly in his sleep, his rosy lips smacking gently together.  Harry bit his lip.  God, he was amazing... He dug the heel of his hand into his eyes.  He was not supposed to feel this way.  It wasn't  _okay._ He was ruining everything.... "Harry..." Louis mumbled again, and Harry's breath caught roughly in his throat.  Could he be dreaming about him?  Never.... Louis didn't have feelings for Harry, at least not in the sense in which Harry had for  _him._  

"Harry, don't go..." Louis whimpered again, and Harry gulped, squeezing his eyes shut and pursing his lips.  Louis was  _really_ not helping him to overcome his emotions.  He glanced down to see a distressed, anxious look cross Louis's peaceful face, causing his eyes to move more energetically beneath his pink lids. "Don't let Niall eat my Boobears..." A reluctant smile tugged at Harry's lips.  

"Never, Lou," He whispered gently, gazing fondly down at Louis as he slept.  "You're my Boobear."  At the sound of Harry's voice, the distraught, unnerved aura left his face, replaced with a content, blissful expression.  He murmured happily against Harry's chest, and Harry's heart jumped as Louis's lips brushed the fabric of his sweatshirt.   _Did I do that?_ He wondered as he eyed Louis's serene countenance.  Did he honestly make Louis just as happy as Louis made him?   _No,_ he thought desolately, the corner of his lip turning down as he let his head fall back on the pillow.  Harry was not good enough to make anyone happy.  He was just Harry; a weak, snivelling, talentless, cowardly lad who happened to make the hellish mistake of falling for his best friend.  Of course he didn't make Louis happy.  He would never make anyone happy.  He was far too inferior for that...

"I'm your Boobear," Louis echoed him vaguely, his voice trailing as his lips parted, and Harry couldn't help but furrow his forehead in mingled dejection and yearning, wishing Louis would somehow return his feelings. But he knew he never, ever would.  

"That's right," Harry chuckled sadly, folding his hands behind his head, very aware of the heat of Louis's palms as they cupped tightly around his waist.  He swallowed with surprise as Louis's long, soft eyelashes fluttered, and he was overwhelmed by the shock of deep, rich blue.   _He's happy,_ Harry realised as his azure eyes flitted sleepily about the room before meeting Harry's.  

"Oh, hello there," Louis croaked with a groggy smile, and Harry couldn't stop the grin that broke across his own face as he looked down at the boy lying on his chest.  

"Morning, sleepy," he chuckled throatily.  

"Did I sleep all night?" Louis asked, blinking in surprise, and Harry shook his head. 

"Nah, it's only..." He glanced at his watch.  "Half to eleven.  Getting pretty dark."  

"Oh," Louis yawned, rubbing his eyes childishly.  "Where have the others got to?"  

"No idea," Harry frowned.  The pair of them fell silent as they listened to the vague ambiance sounding throughout the rest of the house.  A smattering of muffled laughter echoed below them, followed by Niall's loud voice.  

" _I'm going to bed.  G'night!"_

"Sounds like Niall's on his way up," Harry said unnecessarily, and Louis sighed.  

"Too bad.  It was nice....You know, just resting here." he admitted.  At this, Harry's heart escalated into his throat.  Louis enjoyed his company?  Well, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. According to Niall, Louis whined like a four year old if he and Harry were apart.  At this thought, the corners up his lips lifted slightly.  

"Yeah, it was," he said quietly.  If only Louis knew just  _how_  nice... 

"Oh well.  He'll be out like a light," Louis whispered with a smile as he turned his head to rest his chin on Harry's stomach and look into his face.  He was so, so unbelievable beautiful...

"Who's beautiful?" Louis asked, and Harry's eyes widened as his cheeks flamed with colour.  Shit, he  _really_  needed to find some method of breaking that habit.  It was dawning on him just how big of a give-away it would be if any more of his feelings for Louis made themselves audible.  "Who, Haz?" Louis pressed, a suspicious smirk now appearing on his face as he teased Harry.  In a simpler time, when Harry's feelings for Louis were nonexistent and they had a relationship like brothers, Harry would have laughed,  _"You, of course, my beautiful Boobear!"_  And kissed Louis playfully on the cheek, but somehow, he could not find it in him now.  

"Erm...Sophia?" he coughed, the gears in his head churning wildly as he searched for an answer.  Louis's face fell.  

"Sophia?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion, his lips forming a small pout.  Immediately, however, as Harry suspected he would, he fixed an amused, gleeful expression back on his face before letting his voice morph into his classic American television show host accent, exclaiming, "Wrong answer!"  Harry gave a shaky smile, diverting his gaze from Louis's and purposely keeping his hands locked firmly behind his head.  

As a soft quiet fell over them, Harry swallowed anxiously, waiting for Louis to say something.  When nothing but silence echoed through the space, he let his eyes flutter back to his face, and he bit his lip.  Louis was staring sadly up at him, a baffled glint in his eye, and Harry knew he, too, was confused as to why Harry was behaving so differently.  On the other hand, Harry was not about to offer any explanation.  

Louis's soft, rosy lips pursed in disapproval, and the question in his expression was replaced by solid resolution as he nestled his head into the hollow of Harry's neck, his arms tightening around his waist.  Harry's eyes widened, and his breath froze at his lips.  As Louis's ear pressed warmly against the base of his collarbone, he was sure he had noticed the escalation of his heartbeat.  What would he make of it?  He tensed beneath the boy, his muscles tautening as his hands hovered helplessly over his torso.  

"Dammit, Harry," Louis murmured against his chest, his eyes fluttering shut.  "Just relax."  When Harry only bit his lip fretfully in reply, Louis opened his eyes again, glaring reproachfully up at him.  "C'mon, Haz, work with me.  Don't you want to cuddle your Boobear?"  Harry sighed, clenching his teeth in frustration.  He was making this so extremely difficult....

"If you want, I can let you sleep in your own bed." Louis challenged, raising in eyebrows, and Harry relented.  He didn't care how confusing and painful his feelings were; all he knew was that he wanted to stay in Louis's arms for as long as he could.  He sighed with defeat, ashamed of just how pathetic he was, and let his arms drape themselves around Lou's back and shoulders, his fingers linking together over the dip created by his hips. His palms carefully sank into the smooth, familiar fabric of Louis's favourite tee shirt, his thumb accidentally brushing a smooth, gentle streak across the bare skin above the waistband of Louis's boxers.   God, if he knew just how amazing he was..

.He pursed his lips as he closed eyes, letting himself melt into the pillow and into Louis's warmth.  

_This,_ he though blissfully, ignoring the guilt rushing through his mind.   _This right here it everything._ Louis was everything.  If he wanted Harry to relax and cuddle up to him, then that's just what Harry would do.  He was only granting his wishes, right?  There was nothing wrong with that, right?  Right?  Louis smiled triumphantly as his cheek nuzzled gently into the smooth fabric of Harry's sweatshirt, his skin heating Harry's chest.  

"That's better," he murmured.  "No one can resist the temptation I pose." He chuckled pleasedly to himself, eyes fluttering shut, and Harry forced a nervous laugh from his lips.  

_Oh, Louis,_ he thought desolately,  _You have no bloody idea._  

"Lollipop, lollipop, oh, lolli-lolli-lolli-lollipop!" Niall's cheerful voice drifted vaguely to their ears from the hallway, and Louis lifted his head slightly, snickering.  

"Didn't know Niall liked  _lollipops,_ " He said, eyebrows waggling as those piercing blue eyes met Harry's, and Harry emitted a reluctant chuckle.  Well, if Niall  _did_ appreciate "lollipops," he may not have been the only one...

Was Harry gay?  He couldn't be.  He'd gotten it on with countless girls and quite enjoyed himself, yet something about his feelings for Louis were so, so very different from anything he had ever felt for a woman before.  He had never, ever looked at any other boy the way he looked at Louis, but he could not deny his attraction for the Doncaster lad.  He fancied women.  He did not fancy men.  He was unbelievably attracted to Louis.    
 _The pieces were not fitting together._

"Knock that off," Louis rolled his eyes, and Harry's forehead creased with confusion.  

"What?" he asked stupidly, his lips jutting forward.  

"You're overwhelmed.  Stop thinking so hard," Louis shrugged.  

"How did you know I was thinking?" Harry asked.  

"Because, you start taking these really weird breaths through your nose, and your jaw clenches." Louis giggled, the familiar dimple forming in his chin.  Harry's cheeks flamed; he had not realised that his habit of displaying his thoughts went further than his awful mumbling.  "It's kinda freaky," Louis continued with a grin.  "But I think it's cute."  

_Here I go again,_ Harry thought dismally as his heart leaped sporadically into his chest once more and his mind began buzzing.  He needed to get the idea that he had a chance with Louis out of his head.  Louis wasn't really  _helping_ with that task, however.  

"Course you do," Harry sighed under his breath, and Louis beamed cheekily, nestling his head gently against Harry's shoulder.  Harry tensed again at the gesture, and Louis frowned slightly.  

"Stop that," he growled frustratedly against his sweatshirt, and Harry sighed, letting himself slowly relax, and he closed his eyes as Louis grabbed one of Harry's hands and tugged his arm tightly around himself, his fingers threading sweetly between Harry's, curling around his knuckles and heating his skin. "There," he said, clearly satisfied, and Harry swallowed, staring up at the underside of Lou's bunk.  Louis really had no idea just how difficult he was making this.... 

"Call my baby lollipop, tell you why, because she's sweeter than...What's this?"  Harry and Louis looked around as the door was flung open with a bang, and the stocky, pale figure of Niall appeared in the frame.  

"What's what?" Louis asked in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing.  Harry understood his bafflement.  He and Lou cuddled almost every night, and the boys  _knew_  that.  But Niall was aware of the...Er... _Change_ in circumstances.  Harry swallowed with shame, diverting his gaze from Niall's.  

"This....You...Are you out of your mind, mate?" Niall asked incredulously as he glared at Louis.  

_Poor Lou,_ Harry thought guiltily; he had no idea what Niall was talking about.  Harry gazed desperately at the Irish lad, his eyes widening urgently as he attempted to convey to him to  _shut the hell up,_ and to his relief, Niall finally seemed to get the message.  His face dawned with comprehension, and he shot Harry a dark glare before striding intently into the room and grabbing his hand.  

"A  _word,_ my good friend?" he asked pointedly, and Harry grimaced as he crawled out from beneath Louis and onto the floor, feeling suddenly cold as a result of the lack of body heat joining him.  

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Louis asked, surprise clear on his face as he propped himself up on his elbow.  

"Not your concern, Lou," Niall sighed as he dragged Harry into the hallway.  

"I'll miss you, my love!" Louis cried dramatically as he pretended to extend his arm in longing, and Harry forced a laugh as he followed Niall.  Niall shut the door once they stood in the brightly lit hallway, and he crossed his arms as he turned to eye Harry expectantly.  

"Are you off your rocker, mate?  What was that-" Harry began, but Niall put up a finger quickly, turning to the door.  

"Wait for it," Niall muttered, slamming the back of his heel into the wood, and the two of them heard a yelp as Louis scuttled away from the door, where he had quite plainly been attempting to eavesdrop.  Harry smiled reluctantly as Niall rolled his eyes and turned to look at Harry.  "Harry, what the hell were you doing?" he asked gently.  Harry swallowed nervously.  

"I dunno...I didn't want to cuddle up to him like that...Well, obviously I did, but you know; he only intended it in a friendly way, so I tried to back off, but he's so bloody persistent like that, and I just...I always like to give him what he wants, to make him happy, but...I...Well..." Harry sighed, shaking his head embarrassedly and glowering at the floor.  Niall was quiet for a long moment, his blue eyes roaming critically over Harry's face before he finally spoke.  

"He really does care about you."  

"I know," Harry groaned, running his hands roughly over his face.  "But the fact that he only cares for me in a brotherly way just makes it worse."  

"No, Haz, I don't think so," Niall said sympathetically, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder and rubbing it gently.  "Trust me, we've all seen the way the two of you are together, and we all know that the way Louis behaves around you is far from brotherly.  You're just so comfortable around each other."  Harry shrugged his hand off.  

"It doesn't matter, because whatever he feels for me, it will never be romantic."  Niall sighed, a look on his face that plainly said 'There's no use in arguing.'  

"Harry... I know right now I'm supposed to offer you some incredible pep talk and slap your ass with a cheesy  _'Go get 'em, sonny!'_  But it kind of looks like you just need some comfort right now.  And by comfort, I mean from someone who isn't going to tragically confuse you with their mixed signals.  Am I right?"  Harry bit his lip, nodding childishly, and Niall blinked resignedly, opening his arms.  Harry leaned into them without hesitation, wrapping his own arms around his soft waist, so much smoother and less muscular than Louis's... 

_Stop it,_ he snapped mentally.   _You need to stop fawning over someone who will never return your feelings..._

"Stop what?" Niall mumbled confusedly into his shoulder, and Harry groaned.  "Hey, just calm down, Harry.  I know this must be pretty hard, but we're all behind you." 

"You're the only person who knows how I feel, Niall." Harry rolled his eyes, and Niall chuckled sadly.  "You can't tell the other boys, Ni," Harry continued anxiously.  "Especially Louis."  

"Awh, c'mon, Haz, wouldn't it be better if..."  

"I mean it." Harry insisted seriously, pulling back slightly to glare determinedly into Niall's face.  

"Harry, why do you care so much if the other lads know how you feel about-" 

"I just do, okay?  Please,  _please_  don't tell anyone else."  Niall sighed as he looked into Harry's eyes, searching.  

"Okay," he relented, and Harry gratefully folded him into another hug.  

"You're amazing, Nialler," he whispered with relief.  

"I know," Niall said happily, and Harry smirked into his shoulder.  

"Guys, I need to...Oh," A familiar, sweet voice pierced Harry's ears, causing his heart to jump, and he turned his head to see Louis standing uncomfortably in the door way, a look of mingled surprise and fury on his face.  

"Hi, Lou," Niall sighed, noticing the immediate tensing of Harry's muscles as he hugged him.  

"I didn't realise I was interrupting anything," Louis muttered darkly, and Harry frowned in confusion.  What had happened to Louis's sunny exuberance?  He moved to pull away from Niall, but he found himself constricted as the lad's arms tightened around his back.  

"Just go with it," he breathed in his ear, and Harry swallowed, wondering where on earth he was going with this.  "Oh, it's okay," Niall said with ease.  "We were done  _talking_ anyway. Let's get some sleep shall we?" He smiled into Harry's face before putting his arms round his shoulders and leading him gently back into the room.  Louis stood stalk-still, glaring at the pair of them suspiciously for a long moment, before his jaw clenched and he followed them sulkily through the door. "Something wrong, Louis?" Niall asked innocently as he removed his arm from Harry's shoulder, taking care to let his hand brush his arm before stepping away, and Louis bit his lip, shooting Niall a stare worthy of Satan before muttering incomprehensibly and turning to the dresser.  

" _What the hell?"_ Harry mouthed furiously to Niall, who was grinning goofily as he rocked back and forth on his heels.  

"Someone's jealous," he sang under his breath, quietly enough that Louis, who was busy bustling through his drawer, could not hear.  Harry raised his eyebrows in challenge, shaking his head.  Whatever had brought Louis's bad mood on, it was  _not_  jealousy.  That much, he was sure of.  "You're welcome," Niall whispered, beaming as he tugged his t-shirt over his head.  Harry shook his head darkly.  Of course, Niall would be the person to interfere with this situation.   Well, Harry would have to stop him before things went too far. 

 

❡❡❡

 

_"You're the only person who knows how I feel, Niall."_

Louis froze, frowning.  He had not intended to listen in on the conversation going on in the hallway...Well, he  _had_  a few moments ago, when Niall had rammed his foot into the door and shattered his kneecap...All matters aside, his senses sharpened as he struggled to hear what Harry was saying.  Harry told him everything.  There was nothing that the two of them did not know each other...Right?  If there was something Harry was hiding from him, he had to know.  

_"You can't tell the other boys, Ni.  Especially Louis."_

Ouch.  That stung.  Louis's forehead creased anxiously, and he straightened up to listen to what Harry had to say.  How could he be keeping something from him, Louis, his best...whatever they were, of all time?  Maybe he had overestimated their relationship.  Maybe they weren't as close as he had thought.  

_"Aw, c'mon, Haz, wouldn't it be better if-"_  Niall said, and Louis tensed slightly as Niall used the nickname Louis had conjured.  That was  _his_ thing, something he and Harry shared.  That name, it was something intimate, something personal.  Why was Niall using it?  It belonged to Lou.  

_"I mean it,"_  Harry insisted anxiously.

_"Harry, why do you care so much if the other lads know how you feel about-"_  

_"I just do, okay?  Please, please don't tell anyone else,"_  Harry pleaded.  A long pause filled the hallway, and Louis teetered anxiously on the edge of his mattress, wondering what on earth they could be doing.  

_"Okay,"_  Niall finally said in a tone that was far too gentle for Louis's taste, and the sound of rustling clothing emanated from the other side of the door.  What were they doing?  

_"You're amazing, Nialler,"_  Harry whispered in his husky, boyish voice, and Louis bit his lip, eyes widening.  

_"I know,"_  Niall said happily, and Louis rose to his feet abruptly, starting for the door.  What on earth could compel the two of them to talk to each other so warmly?  He was going to find out.  

"Hey, guys, I need to... Oh," he said, his tone dropping significantly as he swung the door open, for he looked into the hallway to see Harry and Niall locked in a tight, cozy embrace.  He bit his lip, wondering why he was feeling so coldly towards this gesture.  It wasn't as if he  _owned_ Harry or anything.  Surely, he was free to hug who he liked...And call them "amazing"...And talk about his feelings with them.... Louis swallowed, glaring at them suspiciously as he waited for an answer.  

"Hi, Lou," Niall sighed, and Louis waited for his arms to drop from around Harry, but they only tightened over his shoulders.  

"I didn't realise I was interrupting anything," he grumbled.  Honestly, they could  _stop_ the hugging now; he was trying to have a  _conversation._   He watched as Niall breathed something into Harry's ear before turning to Louis and saying, "Oh, it's okay.  We were done  _talking_ anyway." Louis eyed the two of them suspiciously as Niall slung an arm around Harry's broad shoulders and turned to start for the door.  Well, what was  _that_ supposed to mean?  

"Let's get some sleep, shall we?" Niall asked as he led Harry into the room, and Louis followed, still feeling awfully confused.  "Something  _wrong,_ Louis?" he added pointedly as he glanced at Louis, and Louis narrowed his eyes, muttering under his breath and turning to the dresser to change.  Niall was playing at something, but he had absolutely no idea  _what._ It couldn't be a laugh; Niall could keep a straight face about as long as he could keep his hands off a cheeseburger. 

_What was going on?_ Could he and Harry possibly...  _No,_ he thought, rolling his eyes at his stupidity.  He may not be seeing things clearly with Harry recently, but he knew that he was not gay, and he did  _not_ have feelings for Niall.   _He could be bisexual,_ A tiny voice in the back of his mind murmured, and he frowned.  Somehow, he didn't picture Harry as type to be...erm,  _intimate_ with a lad.  After all, the way he and Louis fooled around seemed so incredibly natural and comfortable.  Then again, Harry hadn't been acting so  _natural_ lately.   

He shook his head, blinking as he cleared the strange thoughts from his mind and rummaged through his designated drawer for a pair of pyjama pants.  A stiff silence had fallen behind him, and as he snatched up a bundle of flannel into his fist, he turned to see Niall and Harry sending each other pointed glances, Harry's eyes wide and challenging, Niall's smug and triumphant.   _The hell?_   Louis's eyes, now a dark shade of green, flitted warily in between them, and he bit his lip as Harry shot Niall a grateful smile.  

"Ahem," Louis coughed loudly, letting the two of them know that he still  _existed._ Harry turned to face him, and as green met green, his cheeks tinged with magenta, and his gaze dropped nervously to the ground.   Louis frowned anxiously.  Harry had never been afraid to make eye contact before.  What had changed that?  If he and Niall had something  _going on,_ that was just dandy, but it didn't mean things had to change between Harry and Louis, did it?  He stared fretfully at the Cheshire lad, biting his lip as he pondered what on earth had happened to damage what they had.  He turned slightly to see Niall's blue eyes locked on his face, and he swallowed, blushing slightly and sending the blonde-haired boy a challenging glance.  Niall only smiled comfortingly, his eyebrows raising, and turned on his heel to crawl into bed.  

"So, uh, Harry," Niall said casually as he scooted onto his mattress.  "If you're still feeling a bit ill, you should probably sleep with one of us.  You know, to keep warm."  Louis frowned, his eyebrows shooting up in bewilderment as he glanced between the two boys in the room.  Niall's eyebrows were waggling up and down across his forehead, an obvious grin on his lips, and Harry was shooting him the look of death from his spot on the floor.  Well then, that was nothing short of strange...

"So, you've, uh, got a lot of options here," Niall continued, smiling like he had the world in the palm of his hands.  "You could sleep with me, or Liam, or Zayn...Or Louis..." he said, his blue eyes brightening, and Louis glared suspiciously in his direction.  Usually, Niall was an open book; his motives always crystal clear, but now... Louis had absolutely no clue what was going on in his blonde, Irish head.  

"Okay, Niall, I think it's time you go to bed," Harry said hastily, panic rising in his face, and Louis's lips parted as his bafflement grew.   _What on earth is going on?_

"Fine, but the same goes for you two!" Niall said sternly, waggling his pale finger in the direction of each boy.  "You both need to get to bed!  I mean, not in the  _same_ bed, of course...I mean, you can if you  _want_ to...Nothing meant...."  

"I'm sure," Harry snarled, and he glared at Niall so forcefully that Louis was surprised the lad didn't have holes burned into his forehead.  Louis pursed his lips, glancing down sulkily at the floor.  Ordinarily, Harry would grin and snatch Louis playfully in his arms before displaying one of their fake snog sessions, all the while snickering teasingly into each other's ears.  

_So, why,_ he wondered,  _Is Harry rocking awkwardly on his feet and avoiding my gaze?_ It wasn't right.  It wasn't  _normal._

He anxiously waited for Harry to say something, to laugh and tease Niall about somehow being high off of  _food,_ or to grin and pinch Louis's bottom as he did at least twice a day, but hadn't been doing so often, recently... Harry simply turned a bright shade of maroon and swallowed as he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his pyjama pants.  Louis's eyes met Niall's blue orbs for a moment, and Niall nodded encouragingly before Louis glanced away, scowling.  The uncomfortable silence that ensued was one of the first the boys had ever experienced, and definitely the first shared by Harry and Louis.  Louis didn't like it.  Things were changing, and he did not like it at all... 

"Ooh, looks like that storm is really raging!" Niall noted as the vague smattering of raindrops on the roof of the house increased.  

"It better not be," Louis muttered under his breath as a small eruption of thunder echoed dimly in the distance.  Louis did not know what he would do if the power went-

_Click._   

With a small, barely audible pop, the world was suddenly thrust into blackness.  

_Of  course._

Louis's breath caught in his throat, and a tiny, instinctive whimper whined from his lips before he could repress the sound. 

"Lou," Niall warned him quietly, but it was far too late; Louis's peace of mind had vanished the moment the power had gone out.  As he blinked quickly, squinting and widening his eyes in an attempt to conjure something,  _anything_ out of the darkness.  "Louis, calm down," Niall said hastily as the sound of Louis's breaths grew increasingly ragged and sharp.  

"Oh, no," he breathed, his lip beginning to tremble as the anxiety settled.  "Oh, no, no, no, no, no..."  

"Louis, it's okay, just..." The sound of rustling bedsheets accompanied the thrumming of the rain and the soft booming of thunder as Niall presumably began to crawl of out bed.  " _Ouch!_ " he hissed, swearing loudly.  "God dammit, these bloody Legos are worse than pushpins, in all honesty..."  Louis's eyes widened ever further as fear engulfed him. His fingers twitched nervously at his sides; he didn't dare move.  

"God...Oh, God..." he muttered under his breath, swallowing anxiously, his teeth biting sharply into his bottom lip.  

"Not good," Niall groaned as he listened to the sounds of Louis's panic.  Louis, for the record, whole-heartedly agreed; this most certainly was  _not good._ What was he going to do?  He couldn't simply stand here for hours upon hours until the power came back on.  Normally, he dove into Harry's arms, craving and nestling into the comfort of his warmth, but now...What now?  Apparently, Niall was thinking the same thing.  

"Harry, do something!" he hissed.  

"Why me?" Harry asked desperately. Louis might have felt hurt by the question if he were not so completely overwhelmed with fear, but unfortunately, that was not the case.  

"You know why," Niall snarled, and Harry sighed, relenting.  Louis bit his lip.  Was it really so terrible to have to comfort him? Harry had never, ever had a problem with consoling Louis before; why on earth was everything so...  _Different?_ As the wall emitted a loud, ominous creak only a few feet from where he was situated, a second whimper caught roughly in his throat.  The sound of soft, gentle footsteps behind him sent another buzz of alarm rushing through his mind, but when a pair of warm, familiar, ropey arms encircled him, pressing gently into his shoulders, folding them into a warm, smooth, bare chest, Louis realised that it was Harry.  

"Shh," a low, husky, boyish voice murmured in his ear, and Louis repressed a shudder as Harry's feverish skin countered the chill of the air.  "It's just a quick outage, remember, Lou?  Nothing to be afraid of."  

"Too dark," Louis murmured distractedly.  "Much too dark...Can't see."  

"I know," Harry breathed gently, his hot breath skimming over the exposed skin of Louis's neck.  "I'm right here.  Don't worry.  I'll guide you."  Louis could not stop the calm, comforted little smile beginning to creep onto his anxious face, and a gentle wave of tranquility glowed to life in the back of his head.  As Harry's fingers laced through his own, tugging him towards their bunk bed, Louis mewled pathetically, letting his muscles tauten with resistance as he dug the heels of his feet into the single space of floor he knew was not scattered with objects that could send him toppling to a painful, humiliating, dark, blind, torturous  _death...._

He supposed he might have been being a tad bit over-dramatic, but his sudden lack of sight had him on edge.  He whined slightly with panic, and he heard the soft, sympathetic whir of breath accompany the smattering of rain overhead as Harry sighed.  

"It's okay, Louis, I've got you." He whispered.  

"But you can't see either," Louis whimpered, then hesitated before adding, "Can you?"  

"No, I'm not Batman," Harry chuckled lightly.  "But I, on the other hand, am not mentally hindered by paralyzing  _fear._ So, I think you can rely on me."  

"He's got a point," a loud, gleeful Irish voice sounded from somewhere behind the pair of them, and Louis jumped, his shoulders hunching defensively as he remembered that Niall was still in the room.  

"Calm down, babe," Harry sighed, and Louis swallowed, his eyes glinting slightly in the darkness at the sound of the word,  _"babe_. _"_   It was not that they had never used pet names for each other; what otherwise was the purpose of terms like "Boobear" and "Hazza?"  It had simply been a long time since harry had used an endearment like that, and it was....Reassuring; something to let Louis know that perhaps what their relationship had not completely disintegrated after all.  

The smooth, warm skin of Harry's hand brushed his as his fingers gently gripped Louis's, his thumb cautiously running over the ridged, crescent-shaped scar imprinted in his palm, and Louis bit his lip as Harry slowly tugged him across the floor.  It was at times like these when Louis fully appreciated the ideality of having a room the size of a sauna.  His bare feet shuffled firmly along the carpet, dragging awkwardly, and Harry sighed with mingled frustration and amusement as he pulled Louis through the blackness.  

_How on earth does he know where we're going?_ Louis wondered anxiously, his breath halting at his lips as he anticipated the moment when the pair of them would come crashing tragically to the ground, but before he knew it, his shins had bumped lightly into what seemed to be the edge of his mattress.  He blinked in surprise, a curious murmur emanating from his mouth, and Harry chuckled quietly before putting his hands on Louis's shoulders and carefully lowering him onto his bed.  

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, and Louis turned red, muttering an indistinct "Shut up."   "Whatever, Lou," Harry said warily, scooting across the mattress and groping in the dark for a fistful of the sheets to allow Louis to crawl beneath the blankets.   _Which is all very well,_ Louis thought,  _There's just one problem; where_ are  _the damn blankets?_

"Come on, into bed, Boo," Harry coaxed him, and Louis swallowed, sitting stiffly in place.  

"I don't know..." he mumbled pathetically, and Harry chuckled.  

"You're too damn helpless, you know that?" He murmured quietly, and Louis blinked in surprise as he felt his soft, smooth hands cupping gently around Lou's shoulders, guiding him carefully in the right direction.  "There you go," he whispered as he somehow managed to find the hem of Louis's comforter and drape it lightly over Louis's chest.  Louis supposed he should have felt humiliated, embarrassed, ashamed, even- but this was different.  This was Harry.  Despite the overwhelming anxiety pinning him to the mattress, he felt the initiation of a smile at his trembling lips.  

As he turned his head slightly on the pillow, a sudden, small square of light punctured the darkness, and he sighed with relief as blue streaks of luminescence glowed throughout the room.  He blinked quickly with surprise to see the pale, radiating face of Niall as he clutched his phone in his hands, grinning like a blithering idiot as he watched Harry coddle Louis like a child from across the floor.  

"Can we help you, Nialler?" Louis asked, his voice still weak with panic as he looked towards the Irish lad.  

"No, he can't," Harry said quickly before Niall was able to answer.  "Isn't that right, Mister Horan?" he added venomously as he glared at Niall, his green eyes glinting.  Well, that was certainly strange.  

"Harry, what..." Louis began to ask, but harry silenced him with a sigh as he ran his fingers warily through his limp curls.  

"It's nothing, Louis.   _Nothing,_ " he growled as Niall opened his mouth, and he closed it once more with a shrug.  "Just...Go to sleep, all right?" Harry asked, and Louis bit his lip, nodding.  He was getting tired of the dishonesty.  A few weeks ago, when it came to their friendship, Louis would have asked, "What are secrets?"  Now, it seemed that  _secrets_  were all that composed their relationship.  He didn't like it, to say the very least.  He wanted things to go back to the way they were.  So, when Harry's hand fell from his shoulders and he moved to climb onto the floor, Louis's wrapped his fingers gently around Harry's wrist, halting him.  In the dull light of Niall's phone, Louis watched as Harry turned towards him, confusion plain in his face.  

"No," Louis murmured reproachfully.  "You're sleeping with  _me_  tonight.  Like always."  

"I..." Harry said nervously, his jade green eyes flitting around his surroundings, meeting everything but Lou's, and Louis sighed as his finger's tightened slightly, his thumb running smoothly across the smooth, pale underside of Harry's forearm.  

"Please?" he asked, letting his voice melt into the small, simple plea he knew Harry could never refuse.  He did not miss the strange beam that flashed across Niall's ruddy cheeks, nor did he miss the hiss of victory that emanated from his lips, but at that moment, the only thing on his mind was the delighted, childish little smile that had just worked its way onto Harry's lips; the bright gleam in his eye that morphed his dimpled face into one of youth and innocence.  

Louis loved seeing that face; that face he rarely saw anymore, the face that only made an appearance when he was with Lou.  Louis loved that he was the  _reason_ behind the occurrence of that sweet, vulnerable expression, that he, the nameless, faceless older brother from Doncaster, could possibly have such an effect on another person.  It meant everything to him, and he decided right then and there that he wasn't going to give that up any time soon.  Smiling, he let his arm snake gently around the younger lad's waist and tugged him down to lay beside him atop the comforter.  It had been a very long day for Louis.  

"Nothing wrong with this," Harry mumbled to himself, clearly a result of his involuntary habit of speaking his thoughts, and Louis's eyes narrowed in suspicion.  Sometimes, he was thankful, and even amused by the silly quirk, but sometimes, he wished Harry's thoughts would simply stay in his head.  It would make everything so much less confusing... "Nothing wrong.  This could be friendly," Harry breathed, and Louis cleared his throat pointedly, desperate to keep Harry quiet and avoid another cascade of bewilderment.  Harry's head angled slightly in his direction at the noise, and as he realised what he had been doing, he blushed.  

Louis smirked and lifted the corner of his comforter, patting the sheets and inviting Harry to burrow beneath the blankets beside him.  Harry hesitated, his eyes flitting nervously about the dark room for a fraction of a moment before he sighed, seeming to relent, and nestled himself beneath the fabric, his bare arms and chest heating Louis's chilly skin.  An involuntary shudder rippled through Harry's spine, and he instinctively snuggled tightly against Louis's warm torso, craving his heat.  

"Gee, Haz, clingy much?" Louis teased him, and Harry's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he muttered a bashful reprimand.  

Meanwhile, on the Irish side of town, Niall had erupted into stifled giggles, his cheeks red and his eye bright with delight as he clamped a hand over his mouth.  His phone clattered to the floor with a thud, and Louis jumped slightly in bed, sending Harry shivering with surprise as he chuckled.  

"Calm down, Louis, it's just-"  

"Uh oh," Louis breathed, his face blackening as what little light that had illuminated the room vanished, leaving them encircled in complete, solid blackness.  

"Aw, shit," Harry sighed as Niall cussed and scrambled to the floor, the sound of his hands racing along the carpet as he searched for his mobile.  

"Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, it's too dark," Louis whimpered, his breaths reaching a dangerously shallow and ragged peak, and Harry hushed him gently, tugging his arm out from beneath the comforter and awkwardly sliding it beneath Louis's neck.  He wrapped his arm gently around him, pulling Louis carefully into his chest and running his fingers lightly across the warm skin of his back, anxiously searching for any means of comforting him.  

"Just close your eyes, Louis," he murmured fretfully, his pink, rosy lips brushing the hair above Louis's ear as he did so.  

"I can't," Louis whined with panic.  "I can't, I just..."  

"Shh, you know it works," Harry said encouragingly, one of his hands rising to the back of Louis's head, his fingers lacing through the smooth strands of hair and tucking Louis's head gently into Harry's chest.  "Every time.  I'm right here.  C'mon, Boo, just close your eyes."  

"But I..."  

"Close your eyes," Harry whispered, and as his fingers glided over his bare skin like feathers, Louis swallowed and, anxiety still jabbing sharply at his mind, nodded.  

"Okay," he whimpered.  "But...But only for you, Haz."  He felt a slight bump as Harry's chin nodded against his shoulder, and he slowly let his eyes drift shut against the blackness, his ragged, shallow breathing very, very gradually slowing to deep, normal pace.  He felt his taut muscles slowly begin to relax, and as he melted in Harry's arms, listening to the steady thrumming of his heart and his continuous murmurs of  _"It's okay, you're okay, I've got you,"_  he gently drifted off into an uneasy sleep.


	18. S(He)

❡❡❡

 

When Louis woke up the next morning, a Thursday, he felt confused- as if he were still dreaming, still floating in that hazy blur drifting in between reverie and reality. 

All he knew was that he was warm, and that he was with Harry, and that was just okay. That was great.

Lips sealed tight like the stitched mouth of a doll's, he smiled into the lanky, ropey arm wrapped carefully around his neck, rising and falling slightly with every breath of the curly-haired boy. Louis sighed gently through his nose, and in that moment, despite the stress of the competition and the disappointment prompted by his failure to win a solo that week, he didn't think he'd ever felt more content. 

So what if he didn't get a solo this round? There would be others, wouldn't there? And obviously, it didn't matter to Harry whether he got one or not; apparently, Harry would adore Louis even if he sang like a squaking orangutan. So what if he wasn't in the spotlight this week? So what if he was a little disappointed? He had his Harry with him.

Well, at least, he hoped so. Last night had been strange, to say the least. Louis wondered, as he snuggled more closely into the sleeping Harry's grasp, just what had been going through his mate's head the other day. He had behaved so...differently, and Louis hadn't liked it. He hadn't liked it at all. Harry had acted so distantly towards him; reluctant to curl into his embrace, nervous to tell Louis the motive behind his odd actions, and- the strangest of all- Louis had discovered that he was keeping secrets from him, secrets that he was instead chosing to share with Niall, of all people. No, Louis hadn't liked it one bit.

He could only hope that whatever had scared Harry so horribly last night was out of his mind, and that he and Louis would revert back to the usual, bantering duo that they were. Louis needed them too. He needed Harry, and he needed Harry to need him in return. He began to wriggle and whine with agitation in Harry's arms at the mere thought of ever quarrelling with the curly-haired boy around him. 

He bit his lip as his actions began to stir Harry, and he swallowed guiltily as the soft sound of Harry's lips smacking against one another filled his ears. He was waking.

"Morning," Louis breathed, half ashamedly for waking the boy up and half delighted, now that they could begin the day together.

"Mmm," Harry murmured in reply, his voice quite raspy and rough, as it always seemed to be in the mornings. Louis only chuckled quietly to himself, smiling as he listened to the gravelly hum of the boy behind him. He wriggled further back into Harry's chest, grinning like an idiot when Harry's arms wrapped around his neck and waist only more securely. Louis knew that he wasn't quite fully awake yet and that he probably wasn't aware of what he was doing, but he was glad. Harry was so much more cozy and intimate, it seemed, when he was groggy and half-asleep; and Louis would never admit it to anyone, but he loved that side of him. He loved snuggling and cuddling in general, and something about snuggling and cuddling with Harry made it all the better.

"Feeling better?" Louis whispered, not wanting to wake any of the other boys. If he were to be quite honest with himself, he wanted a bit of time alone with Harry, just to talk and to cuddle and just...be Harry and Louis. He wasn't quite sure how else to describe it. He just...God, it was infuriating. Harry always seemed to be pulled by others' interests and others' attention, and it seemed like Louis never really had him to himself. It was just that, they were Harry and Louis after all, weren't they? Didn't that give Louis some sort of privelege there, some sort of entitlement to Harry's company? 

Well, he's here now, he thought happily. It was just them; no other bandmates wandering around, no vocal coaches, no contestants, no one... Well, Lou was going to try and take advantage of the moment. 

"Mmm," Harry mumbled again, eyelashes fluttering against the exposed skin of Louis's neck, and Louis repressed a shudder from the ticklish sensation. "Feel fine."

"Good," Louis nodded, satsified. He'd been a little worried back there, and he wondered yet again just what had influenced Harry to expose himself to such horrible cold and weather to the point where he contracted mild hypothermia. It scared Louis, and he wanted to figure out what had bothered Harry. He didn't want him hurting; Harry was the last person on earth who ever deserved to hurt. 

"Don't ever do that to me again, Haz," he murmured quietly, his voice whirring through the silence. "You scared the shit out of me, you know?" 

"Sorry," Harry replied gruffly, this time an immature whine creeping into his tone. He sounded ridiculously like a child trying to get a stern parent of his back about a bad school mark, Louis realised, and he grinned against the skin of Harry's arm. "Won't happen again, mum," Harry added in a groggy mutter, and Louis giggled, struggling to keep his volume to a minimum as someone rolled over in their bunk across the room.

Louis's stomach grumbled loudly, and he remembered with a grimace that he hadn't had much to eat the previous night before searching for Harry. The boy wrapped around him chuckled slightly at the loud sound, sending deep, soft vibrations humming through Louis's torso. 

"Hungry, are we?" Harry mumbled groggily, eyes still shut and heavy with sleep, and Louis smiled reluctantly. 

"Only a little," he replied pompously, and Harry laughed gently, shivering slightly in the cool air of the room and nuzzling his cheek against Louis's shoulder, craving warm. 

"Mm. You're warm." Harry commented sleepily, and Louis only chuckled, cheeks heating slightly. Harry, he knew, was still half-asleep, and nothing that came out of his mouth would make any sense until he was up and had showered. 

But this was nice, Louis thought; simply lying here, warm and close, and he wasn't in any mood to acknowledge the day- not yet, anyway. So, he simply settled for sighing quietly into the air and curling only more closely into Harry's chest, smiling to himself as the groggy Harry cupped the dip of his chin over Louis's shoulder. 

They did this a lot, the two of them. Often times, Louis had layn awake in Harry's embrace while the younger boy snored like a lawnmower, confusion riddling Lou's mind as he contemplated the situation. Ordinarily, he would never have let himself be caught dead in such a cozy, intimate position with any of his friends. He wouldn't cuddle like this with Niall, Liam, or Zayn. Hell, he'd never even cuddled with past girlfriends like this. Why was he so suddenly doing this with Harry, and why were they making nothign of it? Why was it such a small matter? 

Louis had never found any answers. Whatever relationship he had with Harry confused the absolute shit out of him, but when he was feeling so warm and so safe and so happy, it was difficult to grow too bothered. 

His mood only brightened when the warm, crisp smell of sausage and the tangy scent of grilled tomatoes drifted through the cracked door of the boys' room and towards his nose, and his stomach emitted another embarrassingly loud grumble, causing Harry to snicker drowsily against Louis's shoulder. 

"I reckon Zoe's cooking breakfast," Louis whispered happily. "Must be getting late, then."

"Mm," Harry sighed, sounding reluctant to rise and to greet the mornign. "What's the time?"

"Lem'me see," Louis murmured to hismelf, grunting slightly as he wriggled out of Harry's grasp and stretched his arms to the floor to glance at the face of his abandoned wristwatch lying in the carpet. "It's... half nine. We'll have to leave for rehearsals soon, or else we'll-"

But Louis was interrupted as, very suddenly, Harry sat bolt up-right in bed, looking quite awake as opposed to his sleepy demeanor he'd displayed only moments ago. 

"Half nine?" He echoed urgently, eyes widening as he gaped towards Louis, and Louis nodde duncertainly, suddenly quite unnerved by Harry's reaction. He knew Harry was an early riser- damn him- but he didn't think it was such a big deal to the boy. "Oh, shit, shit," Harry swore under his breath, anxiety plain on his face as he ran a hand tightly through his tangled curls, and Louis jumped, startled as Harry lurched off of the mattress and towards the dresser sitting against the wall.

"Harry, what the-"

"Hang on for a second," Harry hushed him urgenltly, eyes still wide and fingers flitting anxiously as he dug through the bottom drawer, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"Haz?" Louis asked cautiously, completely boggled as to what had Harry so worked up. Quite literally seconds ago, he had been half asleep and happy beside Louis. What was wrong? 

Harry didn't bother to reply as he rifled through piles of boxers and pyjama pants, muttering slightly under his breath as he searched. When it appeared he finally found what he was looking for, he exhaled slightly in relief, shoulders drooping, but tensed once more as he felt Louis's gaze on the back of his head. He froze, turning slightly to send a sharp glance towards the bewildered Doncaster boy, and gulped nervously as he wrapped a small, round something in a pair of clear pyjama shorts as stuffed it anxiously behind his back. 

"I...I just..." He uttered, casting wide-eyed, urgent glances towards the door as he began to edge across the floor, not turning once to allow Louis to glimpse the concealed object clutched in his fists.

"Harry, what the hell? What's wrong?" he gaped, still quite unnerved by the sudden manifestation of energy and axiety in the curly-haired boy. What the hell was going on? What had just happened. 

"I...Bathroom." Harry replied abruptly, teeth clenched and green eyes round as he suddenly strode towards the door, feet scuffing across the carpet and curls swishing about his ears as he disappeared down the hall and shut the door of the toilet with a slam. 

As Harry vanished from sight, bouncing strenuously with every brisk step, Louis had thought that maybe-just maybe- he'd heard the clatter of plastic, and even more bizarrely, pills, rattling in Harry's palms.

 

❡❡❡

 

When Harry returned from the toilet mere moments later, he looked shaken but much calmer than he had when he'd left. Gazing towards the floor, he pointedly ignored the baffled stares Louis was sending him, and the sleepy glowers of the other boys as they blinked through the mornign light. 

"Where the fuck was the fire," Zayn snarled under his breath, growling slightly as he tugged the edge of his blanket more tightly over his shoulder and rolled across his mattress. 

"I'll say," Niall grumbled to himself, his hair rumpled and his eyes half-shut as he squinted blearily around the room, propping himself up onto one elbow. "You sure know how to make a racket in the morning, Haz."

Harry only blinked, his cheeks red with embarrassment and discomfort as he pointedly kept his gaze locked on his bare feet, refusing to acknowledge any of the others as he tugged a tee-shirt onto his bare chest and stepped into a pair of slippers. 

"Harry," a fifth voice joined the day as Liam's brown head bobbed above the boards of his bunk. "I...I don't care whether or not Zoe's made muffins for breakfast. You need to keep quiet while the rest of us are-"

"Excuse me?" An Irish voice puntuated Liam's sentence, and Liam sighed, groaning impatiently. "Zoe's making muffins?" Niall exclaimed, suddenly looking wide awake. His jaw dropped, and he glanced back and forth between Liam and the door for a long moment before turning somberly towards Harry. "I apologize for berating you, Harold."

Harry didn't reply as Niall wriggled out of bed and into one of Zayn's hoodies before bidding them good day and scampering down the corrdior as quickly as he could, hollering something about beating Wagner to the meal.

Louis, however, was not so interested in breakfast at the moment, despite his rumbling tummy. His eyes narrowed as he glared expectantly towards Harry, who was looking quite sheepish as he rocked back and forth on his heels, knowing all eyes were on him. Finally, those anxious green orbs met his, and Louis sighed as, at the sight of Harry's obvious agitation and worry, every ounce of frustration and irritation seemed to seep from his body like water rushing through a drain. 

He shot Harry a very obvious "We'll talk later" glance before cramming his feet into a pair of grey Toms and shuffling towards the door, not waiting for Harry to catch up to him.

 

❡❡❡

 

"Zayn?" Louis asked in a small voice hours later as the two of them watched Harry and Liam rehearse from across the gleaming, wood floors of the studio. 

"Yeah, Lou." Zayn replied distractedly, mouth hanging slightly open as he thumbed through pictures on the screen of his phone, completely absorbed by the gadget. 

"Er..." Louis began, wishing Zayn would pay attention to him. "I...I have something to ask you."

"Mmm?" Zayn asked vaguely, and Louis sighed with exasperation.

"Something important," he emphasized, eyes fixated on Zayn's vague face, and a moment later, Zayn's eyebrows scrunched with doubt as he slowly slid his phone into his pocket and turned to face Louis. 

"All right. Let's talk." Zayn said, trying to sound distinctly nonchalant, but Louis knew he was already growing slightly nervous.

"I..." Louis's voice was halted in his throat as he began. He couldn't ask. He shouldn't ask. Or, rather, he shouldn't have to ask....And yet....

Sighing, he emitted a shaky breath between his rounded lips and, voice small and testing, he asked, "Do you...Do you think...I mean, just from how he's behaving recently..." He groaned frustratedly, wishign he could just say it. "Do you think Harry's doing drugs?" He asked, and nearly clapped a palm over his mouth as he let the words slide. He couldn't believe he'd actually said them. It was one thing to consider them, but another to put the idea out in the open.

And yet, it wasn't a question he was asking lightly. He'd been concerned with the possibility since the hours of the morning, when Harry had so oddly panicked and disappeared into the bathroom with what Louis was now sure was a bottle of pills- He'd heard the same rattling noise from the pocket of Harry's jeans later in the morning; noticed the way Harry's hand seemed to hover protectively, ahsamedly over the area, and only one idea had drifted to his mind.

It would explain everything, really- the odd changes in behavior, the sudden restelssness Harry was experiencing around him, the lack of sleep he was getting, the red rims around his eyes, the lag he seemed to undergo....

He didn't want to believe it. Hell, he hadn't even wanted to consider it, but if there was the slightest possibility that Harry was doing anything harmul to himself in any way, Louis sure as hell wasn't going to sit back and watch. No. 

Zayn simply blinked, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in surprise as he gawked towards Louis. 

"Harry?" Zayn echoed, sounding completely baffled. "Drugs?"

"Think about it," Louis warned quietly, not wanting him to formulate an inaccurate opinion. Slowly, Zayn shut his mouth and turned back towards the studio to eye the curly-haired boy as he swayed behind one of the microphones, voice slightly hoarser than usual from lack of sleep.

"I guess I've never really thought about it," Zayn admitted finally. "Doesn't really seem the type, you know?"

"No, he doesn't," Louis agreed, shaking his head. "But....God, it's confusing. I dunno, he's been acting very oddly, lately- avoiding everybody, behaving in weird ways. And this morning, I could almost swear he ducked off the toilet with pills wrapped in his pyjama trousers." Zayn frowned, eyebrows scrunching and lip curling as his mind worked.

"Well..." he began, running a hand over his face. "I guess it could happen to anybody, right? I mean, one of my cousins was addicted to heroine, and no one in my family saw it coming until my uncle found her stash at the bottom of her closet. You never know."

Louis sighed, blinking and resting his forehead on his curled knees. "Well, that's not what I wanted to hear," he chuckled sadly, false humour in his voice, and Zayn pursed his lips. 

"Listen, bud, don't jump to any conclusions, all right? For all we know, Harry could just have some bizarre allergy that really embarrasses him. Maybe he had some Tic-Tacs and didn't want to share." Zayn cracked a smile, and Louis rolled his eyes. 

"Sure, Zayn, sure," he scoffed, although he was smiling again. Maybe Zayn was right. Maybe Harry just had some odd allergy. And yet, it still didn't make sense that Harry wouldn't tell Louis. Harry told Louis everything... Didn't he?

"Hey, if you're still worrying, you could speak with Simon," Zayn suggested, but Louis's eyes widened at the idea.

"Excuse me? No way. If Simon thought Harry was messing around with anything, he'd be kicked off the show. That's not happening." Louis growled defensively.

"Even if he really is doing drugs?" Zayn asked cautiously, wincing as he voiced the question. Louis was silent for a long moment, eyebrows furrowing and lower lip clamped between his teeth.

"That's not happening," he repeated finally. Zayn only blinked, a small smile curling the corners of his lips as he eyed Louis's face, and Louis felt himself going red. "What?" he added indignantly, shooting his friend a sharp glare.

"Nothing," Zayn grinned, shaking his head and smirking happily to himself. "You know," he continued, turnign back to Louis. "The best think you can do is just talk to him. There's nothing he won't tell you, right?"

Right, Louis wanted to reply with a grin. But somehow, the answer wouldn't have felt exactly truthful. He'd thought Harry would tell him anything...Well, up until now. Now, he'd be damned if he knew what on earth was going on within that curly head.

But Zayn was right. If he wanted to get anywhere with this problem, the best thing to do was to remind Harry that he'd always listen to him; that he could trust him. As his hazel eyes focused on the bleary, clumsy boy clutching the microphone before him, he bit his lip, determined to figure out what was going on with Harry and his bottle of pills.

 

❡❡❡

 

Harry was hot.

Harry felt really hot, which was unusual for him, considering he was always trembling with cold. Well, at the moment, he was most definitely trembling, but he most deifnitely was not trembling of chill. A damp sweat had broken across the back of his neck, warming the curls at the nape of his hairline, and his eyelids had grown heavy with heat.

He was growing nervous. He didn't usually experience side effects like this. Oh no...He swallowed as he realised that these awful side effects must have been due to his failure to swallow that pink pill punctually. Yeah, he'd only taken it an hour later, but when Harry had established such a strict, extensive routine, the slightests shifts caused imbalances. Well, apparently, horrible tremors and damp necks were a part of those imbalances. 

"Harry, are you all right?" one of the coaches, Lance, sighed for the third time as he motioned for the sound egineer to quell the track and sent an anxious gaze in Harry's direction.

"Mm?" Harry mumbled, his responses a little on the slow side this morning. "Wha...Yeah, yeah, m'fine. Great. I just..." He repressed another tremor as it tickled his back and squeezed his eyes tightly for a moment before offering Lance a weak smile and straightening before his microphone. 

"You don't look too good, mate," the sound engineer commented sheepishly, popping his gum, and Harry sent him a quiet scowl. He didn't need anyone making his symptoms more obvious than they already were. All he'd ever wanted was to keep his secret behind closed doors; to himself. Why couldn't he do such a simple thing as that?

"Are you ill, Harry? We could have Greg take you back to the house," Savan commented from the corner, nodding towards one of the security guards and staff members lounging in the sofa, and Greg nodded, looking expectantly towards Harry.

"No, no...I'm fine," Harry repeated, anxiety rising slightly in his chest. He hated drawing attention to himself like this. He didn't want to interrupt the rehearsal, or to cause any trouble. Greg shrugged.

"Let me know, mate," he called from the corner, and Harry only nodded.

"Haz." He turned when he heard Zayn's voice calling quietly to him from where he sat against the wall of the studio. Zayn was biting his lip, a sharp glint in his eye as he beckoned Harry towards him with a flick of his forefinger. Harry turned apprehensively towards Lance, hoping he would let him sit out for just a moment. Lance only sighed, shaking his head.

"Go on. In fact, why don't you get some water and cool off for a bit, yeah? Come back in a half hour or so, and we'll finish up with Liam." Harry only nodded, feeling guilty for causing complications for finals rehearsals but relieved that he'd at last be able to free himself of these damned symtoms. Running a wide hand through his clammy curls, he turned and jogged towards the wall before sitting down beside his mate.

"What's up?" he asked, a little breathlessly, and winced when Zayn's eyebrow arched suspiciously. 

"Nothing much," Zayn shrugged nonchalantly, although Harry could practically see the cogs turning in his friend's brain as those brown eyes roamed over him, assessing his reactions. "You feeling all right?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, face paling slightly as he lowered his gaze to his lap, not daring to meet Zayn's stare. It was one of those times when Harry fully appreciated just how terrible he was at lying.

"Yeah?" Zayn repeated, eyes narrowing in scrutiny, and Harry sighed. He felt, for a moment, as if he were back in Holmes chapel; the watchful eyes of his mother and sister always following him, always analyising his speech and actions down to the last footstep and the last syllable. It was exhausting, and right before finals, he needed it to end. "Sure? Not ill, or anything? Eaten anything bad?" Zayn added, and Harry was startled by the caution in his tone as he spoke.

"No," Harry said slowly, growing slightly confused. Why were the boys, Zayn and Lou in particular, suddenly so watchful over him? Had he said something, muttered a bit of his thoughts or talked in his sleep perhaps, that had caused them to grow suspicious? Sure, he had been a little less than sbutle this morning when he realised he hadn't taken his pills on time, but what could the boys have possibly deduced from that? "Why?"

"No reason," Zayn replied, a little too hastily, and Harry frowned. "Just..." Zayn continued, sighing a little bit and casting a weary glance in the direction of the water cooler, where Louis was filling up a few cups. "Just know that you can talk to us about anything, okay?"

"Okay," Harry said, hsi voice still slow and unsure, because he honestly is not sure what Zayn's talking about...Unless he's referring to the bottle of pink pills clanking around in Harry's pocket at the moment. He gulped. That was restricted territory, in Harry's opinion, and he wasn't about to talk to anyone about it anytime soon. That was Harry's problem; he wasn't about to make it anyone else's.

He and Zayn stared caluclatingly at each other for a long moment, green fused with brown, before Zayn sighed, blinking anxiously as he broke the gaze and hugged his knees to his chest. Harry wished he knew what was going through his head, but he wasn't about to ask, because in that moment, Louis returned.

"Hi," he said softly, sounding a little less enthusiastic and peppy than he usually did, and this only heightened Harry's anxiety. If Louis was beginning to grow dubious around Harry as well, he needed to tone things down, to become more imperseptible. He had never had such wonderful friends as these, and he'd never had so much devotion and so many feelings for a person like Louis. If he hadn't already ruined that relationship, he wasn't going to let the pink pills in his pocket do the job. If this was upsetting Louis, then he needed to be more careful.

"Hey, Boo," Harry replied quietly, his voice still shaky and timid as he recounted the events of last night. Nothing had been confirmed but Harry's feelings for him. As he met Louis's eye, he was suddenly overwhelmed by long, silky lashes and hazel orbs, and suddenly his cheeks were much redder than they should have been as he bit his lip and turned his gaze.

"Got you this," Louis said, nudging Harry's shoulder with the back of his hand and sliding a styorfoam cup full of water into the younger boy's palm.

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully; he could do with something to rehydrate him. "You didn't need to do that."

"No problem, love. You look a little warm, so I thought you might need to cool down," Louis explained, his gaze painfully concerned as he eyed Harry, and Harry was momentarily torn between childish delight as Louis called him love, and apprehension as Louis's watchful gaze ran over his face. He only mumbled unintelligibly under his breath, his cheeks pinker than they had been before, to Zayn's amusement, and attempted to hide his blush behind the cup as he took a hearty swallow of the water.

He pretended not to notice the pointed glances Louis and Zayn were exchanging behind him, and the blush on Louis's cheeks as Zayn smirked.

 

❡❡❡

 

Harry didn't think he'd ever felt so antsy before. 

He was terribly restless; his muscles jolting and his fingers twitching every couple of seconds as he lay in his bunk later that afternoon, eyes shut tight while he tried and failed to relax. He clenched his teeth as the brawn in his shoulders flexed and slackened before flexing again, and he cursed under his breath.

He knew why he was so uptight. For one, that god-damned pill had screwed him over chemically, at least for a few good hours. He shouldn't have taken it so late, and he was wondering now if taking the pill for its benefits was worth the risks it posed. He bit back the question as soon as it crossed it mind; dropping the pill wasn't an option. He had become far too dependent upon the substance- his edginess was proving that.

For another, he was suffering mild separation anxiety. He had purposefully avoiding Louis all morning, now, even if he knew it wouldn't do much for his mood. He couldn't keep hanging around him like he had been thus far; he just wouldn't be able to hide his feelings. He'd never been particularly skilled with concealing his emotions, especially stronger ones like these, and he was a rubbish actor. No way would he be able to hide how he felt for Louis. If Louis were to ever find out...Well, all hell would break loose, Harry was sure; and he couldn't handle Louis hating him. He could not handle that.

He also couldn't have Louis finding out about the bottle of pink pills now resting against his leg, as if reminding Harry it was there. Louis finding out about the pill and Louis hating him came hand-in-hand. What would Louis think if he knew? Harry didn't like to consider the possibility, and his stomach clenched uncomfortably as he squeezed his eyes shut, banishing the thought from his head. No, he could not have Louis finding out.

He lay in bed, listening to the distant rumble of voices throughout the voice and the sound of wind against the window, for what felt like days before he sighed frustratedly and sat up, swinging his legs over the wood of his bunkbed. He needed to distract himself; he needed to keep his body busy while the side effects of the pill wore off.

He scrambled clumsily down the ladder, swearing as his toe caught on a loose nail, and rubbed his knuckles childishly into his eyes while he padded across the room and down the hallway. Maybe he'd find Niall; he was always in a brilliant mood, and he just might have been the only person on the planet who would understand his sudden desire to avoid Louis. Yes, he'd find Niall.

To his relief, he didn't have to look hard to find the Irish boy. Harry ambled silently through the corridors, tiptoeing past the den where Rebecca, and Louis, and Greg- the security guard- were spectating a game of Foosball between Mary and Aiden, and peered into the rehearsal room to see Niall sitting cross-legged on piano bench, guitar resting upon his knee a quiet croon falling from his lips as he created a melody across the strings. 

Before Harry could let Niall know he was there, Niall smiled satsifiedly to himself, humming an Irish ode happily through his lips, and stood to his feet. Just as he slid his guitar back into its case and stepped into his sneakers, Harry cleared his throat, and Niall jumped, blue eyes widening before he glanced up towards Harry.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, his lips breaking into a cheerful grin, and Harry wondered vaguely how someone could be so happy all of the time. "Harry, what's up, mate?"

"Nothing much," Harry shrugged, voice quiet from lack of use. "Erm...What're you doing?" He added, wrinking his fingers in his hands and shuffling his feet uncomfortably. Niall, unaware of Harry's unease, only grinned, face full of damned sunshine as he skipped from the room, grabbing Harry's elbow in his hand and dragging him towards the kitchen. 

"Well, I was just practicing a moment ago, but I think I'm done for today. Not much has been going on; most of the staff are out getting fireworks for tonight." he chirped conversationally, his lips quirking as he smiled, and Harry's forehead wrinkled in confusion. Fireworks? What was he talking about?

"Why are they out getting fireworks? What's happening?" He asked as he followed Niall through the kitchen.

“It’s Lord Mayor’s Show tonight, remember?” Niall asked, shooting Harry a strange look from the corner of his eye. 

“Wha…Oh. Oh, yeah,” he mumbled, realisation dawning on his face. 

He couldn’t believe he had forgotten about Lord Mayor’s Show. It had always been one of his favourite days of the year; the day his family drove for miles into the city to purchase bizarre, colourful, ridiculously priced fireworks and set them off in the dead of night, transforming the solid, unmoving inkiness into a dazzling spectacular of noise and luminescence, to celebrate the respect of the Lord Mayor of London. 

The blinding brightness of the flames, and the pounding, deafening booms that prohibited any miserable thoughts from passing Harry’s mind…It soothed him; allowed him to escape for a moment or two and to appreciate the magnificence of the colours and the din. How had he forgotten the event taking place on the twenty-sixth of November? He supposed he had had quite a lot on his mind….

“Anyways, I’m going into town. Going to get you lot a little something,” Niall grinned jauntily, snatching a familiar set of keys from the ring beside the back door and wiggling them in the air. The name Greg was taped to the ring, written in red Sharpie.

“You can’t drive,” Harry said, his nose wrinkling in confusion as he eyed the giddy blonde lad. Niall pursed his lips as he hopped out the back door and into the frigid November air. 

“Yeah…” Niall mumbled guiltily as he crept towards the forbidden SUV. 

“Niall!” An exasperated, furious voice sounded from within the house, and Harry realises that Greg must have noticed his keys were missing. “Niall James, you give me back my keys!” Niall giggled into his hand before grabbing Harry’s forearm in his fingers and yanking him off the porch. 

“Nialler, what are you—” 

“C’mon! Greg won’t be as angry if you’re with me!” 

“Niall, don’t be silly, I don’t have time to—” 

“Niall Horan, I swear to God…” Greg hollered.

“Hurry!” Niall squeaked eagerly, diving into the seat of the SUV and jamming the keys into the ignition. 

“We’re going to get in so much trouble,” Harry said vaguely, but for the first time in what felt like weeks, a small smile was beginning to grow on his lips. 

“Don’t pull a Liam on me,” Niall snorted, sloppily putting the van into reverse and pulling out of the lot. 

“Blimey, Niall!” Harry gasped, his eyes widening as he pressed himself back against the seat, his fingers digging anxiously into the leather. 

“I feel like such a bad ass,” Niall grinned, snickering nervously to himself as his blue eyes darted back and forth between the road and his rear-view mirror. 

“Do you even have a provisional licence?” Harry choked as Niall narrowly avoided taking the right mirror off of a passing van. 

“Not anymore,” Niall admitted sheepishly, shooting Harry a sideways glance and chuckling embarrassedly. 

“What on earth did you do to get it confisca—never mind, I’m not sure I want to know,” Harry mumbled darkly, quickly strapping his seatbelt and forcing his seat backward across the carpeted floor. Niall mumbled something about “Overreaction” and “Just a little internal bleeding,” and Harry gulped, his eyes round with alarm. 

“I wish we’d waited for Greg,” he muttered. 

“Which way to the shopping centre?” Niall tried to recall, frowning as he wove clumsily across the road. 

“First left after this stop sign,” Harry breathed, praying that they would reach the centre in one piece—at least two. 

“Here,” Niall said proudly, taking up a parking space and a half as he finally pulled into the large carpark. Thankfully, the centre wasn’t crowded today. 

“I think I’ll just call a cab to get back,” Harry sighed, shaking slightly as he crawled out of the SUV. 

“You’re no fun,” Niall pouted as he began strolling towards the department store. “I might have to reconsider your Lord Mayor’s gift.” 

“God forbid,” Harry grumbled under his breath. Luckily, Niall hadn’t heard. “Why are you even getting us presents? I didn't think people normally gave gifts on Lord Mayor's Show; it’s not like this is a large holiday, or anything,” he questioned, jogging forwards to fall into step beside the blonde lad. 

“I know, but my mum always gave my brother and me little things every Lord Mayor’s Show, and it feels…I dunno, kind of like home,” he admitted, and Harry pursed his lips in understanding. Niall was further from his family than any of the other lads, and he never got to see them very often, seeing as traveling was made difficult. Harry simply nodded, knowing how it felt to miss family, even if he perhaps did not miss Holmes Chapel. At all.

“Okay,” he nodded understandingly, giving Niall’s shoulder a gentle pat as they strolled into the department store. The idea occurred to him that, if it made his friend feel a bit better, perhaps he should purchase some small gifts for the others. He doubted any of the other contestants would be driven to exchange presents, and from the sound of it, Niall was used to receiving small things on Lord Mayor’s. It would be worth cheering the Irish lad up.

“I’ve got some money in hand; I think I’ll get you lot something as well,” he said, and Niall turned to grin at him, his crooked teeth glinting in the cheap, white light of the store. 

“Honestly, Harry? That’d be brilliant!” He exclaimed, smiling like the sun as he threw his pale arms around Harry’s middle and squeezed him tightly. 

Harry grinned. Making Niall happy felt as wonderful as being with a sibling; there was something undeniably contagious about his joy. This brotherly feeling, of course, was far different than any feeling he experienced with Louis, most likely due to the fact that his feelings for Louis were so distinctly unbrotherly…

And yeah, maybe one of the only reasons he was purchasing gifts for the band was because it gave him an excuse to buy something for Lou, but if it made others happy as well, than that was simply icing on the cake. 

“What are you going to get for Louis?” Niall asked, as if reading his thoughts, and Harry glanced up warily to see the small Irish boy gazing intently up at him, his top lip overlapping his bottom. 

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged, his cheeks reddening slightly as he turned his stare from Niall’s, and to his mortification, a sly, broad smile had crept onto the shorter lad’s cheeks once more. “You wipe that grin off your face,” Harry added sharply, his cheeks reddening further still. He should have known by then, however, that once Niall was in Match-Maker mode, there was no breaking him from his high. 

“Sweet Jesus, this is just perfect, innit? You could get him a little bracelet, or a rose, or one of those little promise rings! That would be so adorable!” Niall squealed. 

“Nialler, he’s my friend, not my fiancé,” Harry muttered tersely, glancing around to make sure that no one had noticed Niall’s bizarre behaviour; for the lad had begun to perform once of his spastic Irish jigs in the middle of the dull, quite shop. 

“Yeah, but you don’t think of him as a friend,” Niall said smugly, leering knowingly up at Harry, and Harry shot him a pointed glare that clearly said, “Say one more word and you can kiss your manhood goodbye.” He gazed around cluelessly as the towering shelves, dotted with pointless knick-knacks and overpriced gifts that would undoubtedly end up on someone’s shelf, collecting dust, for years to come. Harry didn’t want to give Louis something he would easily forget, however….

His eyes fell on the mingled, disorganized displays of cheap, romantic gifts, so cheesy he could have choked on the overwhelming corniness of it all…He frowned, staring thoughtfully at the collection of gifts. Maybe Niall was right…Maybe he could use this opportunity to his advantage. 

“I’m off you buy you lot your presents. No looking!” Niall sang cheerfully, skipping off to huddle among the numerous shelves. 

“Okay,” Harry said vaguely, not quite listening as he started for the piles of gifts. 

 

❡❡❡ 

 

“Did you find everything all right?” The elderly cashier asked him ten minutes later, and Harry nodded silently as he glanced over his shoulder to assure that no one other than Niall had noticed his purchases. The cashier began to slide his items into a plastic bag, and the cellophane of the lads’ gifts crinkled against the material. 

He had decided to buy tin-pot, eight-pound headphones for Liam and Zayn, and he smirked to himself as they slid into the bag. Liam’s would probably end up being stepped on, and Zayn was more likely to appreciate the reflective glare of the plastic packaging than the gift itself. 

“Look away,” he warned Niall as the cashier scooped the Irish lad’s present into her hand, and Niall giggled giddily to himself as he pressed a palm over his eyes. Harry smiled; he had decided on a small box of truffles for the boy, knowing that he would rather have something edible than something breakable. 

Finally, the woman wrapped her hand around Louis’s gift—a soft, pistachio-coloured swathe of fleece. Louis had been complaining that he had been feeling chilly at night, and he was a fan of green, so Harry had selected a small, polka-dotted blanket. It was not the most masculine of gifts, but Louis was not the most masculine of lads, and besides, he would appreciate the thought behind the present—even if he did not realize the feelings behind the object. 

Harry’s heart sunk slightly at this thought. 

“A 'His-and-Her' sweetheart blanket?” the cashier tittered with a soft, knowing smile, and Harry glanced up, nodding hesitantly. Since when did social service workers care to interject their opinions of their customer’s purchases? 

“Well, she’s a very lucky lady, I can tell you that,” the elderly cashier smiled warmly, chuckling to herself as she slid the material into the bag. 

“A 'His-and-Her'…” Niall started, his eyes widening as they followed the blanket into the bag, and Harry blushed, biting his lip. A small, adoring smile crept onto Niall’s lips, and he nodded happily to himself. 

“Will that be all for you, then?” the cashier asked. Harry began to reply with a yes, but as he gazed around the store, his eyes fell on the display of false roses. He knew Niall had been joking about purchasing Louis a rose, but…Something about the thought….

”No,” Harry said determinedly, starting for the display and snatching one of the roses from the shelf. “No, this too.” He said, and he clenched his jaw as the sound of Niall’s squeals blared in his ear. He stepped forcefully on his foot, and Niall, getting the message, took off, skipping across the store, clapping his hands happily to himself, looking like a teenage girl gushing over a crush.

“Like I said, she’s very lucky girl,” the cashier smiled before scanning the rose and sliding it into the bag along with the others’ gifts. Harry simply smiled, not bothering to correct her, and thanked the woman as he cupped his fingers around the handles of the plastic and scooped it into his arms. 

“Ready, Nialler?” he called, and his eyes widened with alarm as the small lad came bowling towards him, seemingly from out of nowhere, and crashed enthusiastically into his side. 

“Can I watch when you give it to him?” he asked eagerly. 

“Don’t care,” Harry muttered, his cheeks turning magenta for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out of this…” 

Niall continued to trill happily to himself as he followed Harry to the stolen SUV, and a couple of life-threatening moments of reckless driving later, he was still rambling as he hopped onto the dirt carpark in the shadow of the white X House. 

“I mean, what if you lads got married, and I could say that it was all down to me—Uh oh,” Niall breathed, screeching to a very sudden halt as he glanced up to see a very angry Greg waiting for them on the front porch. 

“Hello, boys,” he snarled, glaring down at the two of them. 

“Erm…Hello,” Harry replied weakly, and Niall chuckled nervously. 

“What were you thinking?” Greg screeched. “Niall, you drive about as well as a turtle can do a backflip.” 

“Actually,” A second, smaller voice peeped from behind the angry security guard, and Harry glanced over Greg’s shoulder to see Liam shuffle onto the porch in his slippers. “One of my turtles, Penelope, can do this trick where she crawls into her shell and tips back—” 

“Not the time, Liam!” Greg shouted, raising a hand and angling his palm in Liam’s direction, and Liam hung his head ashamedly, eyes locked on his slippers. “What on earth were you doing, in any case?” Greg asked warily, running a hand through his hair. 

“Buying presents,” Niall said shyly. “And….and one’s for you!” 

“Oh…You…you were buying a present for me?” Greg asked, his face softening ever so slightly, and Harry suppressed a grin. 

“Yeah,” Niall said eagerly, pleased he had managed to wriggle out of trouble. “It was a surprise…That’s why we couldn’t have you drive us. Here you go,” he said, grabbing a small, black wristwatch from his own plastic bag and thrusting it beneath Greg’s nose. 

“Oh, well—well I—Thanks, Nialler,” Greg mumbled, now looking ashamed that he had been yelling. 

“That was nice of you, Niall,” Liam smiled fondly down at his friend, and Niall grinned sheepishly. 

“I’m glad you think so,” he replied in a whisper, sure Greg would not overhear him. “Because that was actually supposed to be for you.” 

“I—wait, what?” Liam asked, frowning slightly, and Niall emitted a high-pitched laugh of mischief before grabbing Harry’s hand and yanking him past the two men and into the house. 

“What are you going to get for Liam now?” Harry asked, chuckling. 

“I’ll just steal that watch back later, convince Greg he lost it,” Niall shrugged, and Harry rolled his eyes. “So, when are you going to give Lou his presents?” Niall asked eagerly, immediately causing Harry to turn scarlet again. 

“It doesn’t matter, Niall,” Harry whined, squirming uncomfortably. “I wish you’d just let it be.” Niall gaped at him openly, blinking slowly. 

“What, and forget to eat?” he asked blankly, and Harry sighed.

“Whatever. I’m tired, I think I’ll go have a lie down.” 

“Okay,” Niall sulked, before almost immediately perking up once more. “Hey, send Lou down, would you?” Harry turned abruptly, suspicion lining each and every crevice of his face. 

“Why?” he asked sharply, absolutely sure that Niall was up to no good. 

“C’mon, I won’t say anything,” Niall whined. 

“Sure, just like you’ll ‘forget to eat,’” Harry snorted, brushing Niall away. A leprechaun in Match-Making mode could not be trusted under any circumstances. 

“Harry, I swear on my guitar, I won’t let anything slip.” Niall said seriously, pressing his palm to his heart and straightening up. Harry eyed him, increasingly skeptical. “I swear on my…” Niall gulped nervously. “I swear on my Nando’s Black Card.” Harry gasped slightly, his eyes widening with honest shock as he stumbled backwards. 

“Niall!” he choked. “You can’t mean that!” 

“I do,” Niall whispered gravely, nodding respectfully. Harry sighed in defeat. He could not ignore a promise like that.

“Okay,” he whispered seriously. “If you swear.” Niall grinned, somewhat shakily, and Harry turned on his heel, starting upstairs. His hands tightened around the handle of his shopping bag, and he shifted it slightly behind his knees as he stepped into the lads’ room. Sure enough, Louis was perched relaxedly on his bunk, his eyebrows furrowed with focus as he carefully rolled the ankles of his khaki trousers. 

Harry smiled slightly to himself, his heartbeat immediately beginning to escalate to the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. A strange, hot sensation warmed his cheeks as he swallowed tightly. God, if Louis knew the effect that he had on him…

Harry cleared his throat slightly, shuffling awkwardly from side to side, and Louis looked up, jumping. 

“Oi, you can’t just walk in on someone and scare the living daylights—Oh, Harry,” Louis had began to speak angrily, but as his blue eyes fell on the curly-haired lad standing gawkily in the doorway, his dimples sheepishly denting his smooth cheeks, his face lit and a smile broke across his rosy lips. Fuck, he was wearing those damned glasses again. Harry bit his lip and clenched his jaw slightly, tearing his gaze from Louis’s mouth and coming to rest safely above his shoulder. 

“Hi,” he said, wiggling his fingers in greeting, and Louis grinned. 

“Hello. Where’ve you been? It’s been lonely,” he pouted, stretching his arms slightly, signaling to Harry that he would like for him to join Louis on the bed. Harry suppressed a sigh as his heartbeat sped ever further. Did Louis honestly become lonely when he wasn’t there? 

No, he told himself miserably. Louis was fooling around, joking as usual, metaphorically and emotionally stabbing Harry fiercely in the heart as he did so. Again, that was usual. 

“Sorry,” Harry smirked, hesitating before scooting across the floor and perching upon Louis’s mattress, a safe distance away. He shouldn’t let the two of them become so affectionate, even if it did send ecstasy racing through his veins and a comfortable, serendipitous sort of pleasure buzzing about his mind and chest. 

Louis huffed slightly in through his nose, disapproval etched clearly across his face, and he scooched across the mattress to nudge Harry’s hip with his own, their thighs pressed tightly together. Harry’s breath hitched silently in his throat. He prayed that Louis would not do something foolish, such as…. His eyes narrowed as Louis wound his arm affectionately around Harry’s waist, tucking him cozily into Louis’s chest, and their knees knocked clumsily against one another. …Such as that, Harry thought miserably. 

He wished Louis would stop leading him on like this. He knew there was nothing but friendship in the older boy’s actions, but they were such intimate, romantic actions that they had Harry convinced that Louis was just as infatuated as he was. Until, of course, the Cheshire boy whacked himself on the head with the firm slap of reality, and he was reminded that Louis would never love him the way he loved Louis. 

“Stop it,” Louis whined childishly, and Harry could have sworn his heart lept into his throat as he felt the smooth, warm brush of Louis’s fingers against his jaw. Louis gently used his hand to angle Harry’s face in his direction. Those blue eyes had morphed into a delicate, beautiful shade of hazel, and a second pang of guilt hit Harry’s stomach as he realized he was upsetting Louis. “You’re thinking too hard again,” Louis tittered with a stern smile. “I can tell.” Harry sighed, not bothering to object, and Louis smirked smugly. 

“Congratulations,” Harry grumbled sulkily. “You’re a mind reader.” 

“Not quite,” Louis said gently, his voice lowering to a concerned hum. Harry’s eyelashes fluttered. Whenever he used that sweet, caring, tender voice of his, he couldn’t help but go weak at the knees. He swallowed tightly, trying desperately to block Louis’s words from his ears, but to no avail. “If I were, I’d be able to understand why you’re avoiding me like this.” Louis’s fingers twitched slightly as they tightened around Harry’s waist, and Harry’s heart rocketed in his chest at an ever-higher speed, if such things were anatomically possible. 

“I-I’m right here,” he choked, his own voice beginning to tremble slightly as the nerves began to flutter in his abdomen. 

“You know that’s not what I meant, you silly thing,” Louis teased, that perfect grin crossing his features as he playfully tapped Harry’s nose in a mock-stern manner. 

“Y-yeah?” Harry stuttered. 

“Yeah,” Louis said with a smirk, slowing his voice as if he were speaking to a very dim-witted tot. What was Harry going to do? Louis was clearly not about to back away without a solid explanation from him, and Harry could not lie to save his life. He was trapped. 

“C’mon, Haz,” Louis sighed, dropping all pretense. “I thought we had gotten over this whole ‘ignoring each other’ business on Wednesday night.” Harry stomach clenched painfully at the memory. Wednesday…Had that really only been Wednesday? It felt as if centuries had passed between and now… So many emotions had been riding through his system…

“Please? Please tell me, Hazza.” Louis whispered, his voice now morphing into a soft whimper, into that plea that Louis knew Harry could never resist. Well, that just wasn’t fair, now, was it? 

He didn’t know what to do; Louis would know if he lied to him about what was troubling his mind, and yet, if he told him the truth…

Harry trembled in his grasp, and he realized he was acting as a dead give-away for just how nervous he was; he could quite literally feel his own skin vibrating against Louis’s arm, beneath his fingers. His cheeks drained of colour and his eyes widened with alarm, the anxiety of the situation pressing tightly against his chest. Louis’s breath quickened slightly against his cheek as the older lad realized with vague alarm just how incredibly distressed Harry’s was. 

“Shh, shh,” he hurriedly hushed him, frantic to calm his nerves and free him from his frenzy. “Harry, what’s wrong?” he asked anxiously. Harry swallowed. He was so, so unbelievably cornered in that moment. 

“I… I…” he choked, his voice rasping and shaking with anxiety. 

“Okay, calm down, tiger,” Louis teased him, grunting slightly as his arm slid from Harry’s middle to his hip, and Harry’s lips pursed in mingled surprise and chagrin as Louis suddenly lifted him onto his lap. As he did so, he scooted backwards across the mattress, making room for the two of them and cradling Harry carefully against his chest. 

Harry had never felt so…young…So vulnerable… So perfect. Despite the entire sticky, dangerous situation, the moment his cheek landed on Louis’s warm chest and his heartbeat began to thud reassuring in his ear, his nerves seem to melt from his chest and abdomen, sliding from his skin and nestling into a minuscule smattering of almost unnoticeable butterflies in the pit of his stomach. His eyes fluttered shut instinctively, and he nuzzled himself more tightly into Louis’s arms. 

“See? It’s okay,” Louis soothed him, a slight mock in his voice, and Harry knew that Louis would take the mickey out of him for this embarrassing position later on. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the lad’s eternal immaturity, and sighed through his nose, his breath warming the skin of Louis’s slender collarbone. Louis seemed to notice just how snugly Harry was attempting to nestle himself into his grasp, and his voice softened with mingled concern and protectiveness. 

“Harry, it’s all right, I got you. Whatever it is that’s scaring you, you don’t have to fret.” 

Oh, God, Lou, Harry thought. If you had any idea…

“N-No,” Harry hiccupped, still trembling slightly, and he swallowed, forcing himself to raise his hands and lift his body off of Louis’s. This couldn’t keep happening…This was becoming far too risky… “No, I’m fine. I’m not scared of anything,” he snapped defensively, allowing his face to transform into a defensive, daring expression which he knew was all too deceiving. Louis, of course, saw right through it. 

“Harry, quit it. You’re a horrid liar.” He said plainly, gazing boredly at Harry’s face. 

“Louis, I’m fine,” he repeated with a growl, his eyebrows furrowing into a scowl, and he watched as a brief flash of hurt flickered across Louis’s young features. Harry had never, ever been short with him before; not like this… He had never been so dishonest with him. 

“Haz,” he breathed weakly, and as his now-green eyes roamed Harry’s defiant face, Harry could see that he was trying desperately to understand, to see why Harry was behaving so uniquely. 

“I…I came up here to tell you…” Harry said, taking a deep breath in an effort to collect his thoughts and pull himself together. 

“Yes?” Louis asked intently, his eyes widening slightly, and Harry knew that Lou that he was about to offer an explanaition behind his sudden distance. 

“…To tell you that…Er, Niall wants you downstairs.” Harry finished lamely, dropping his eyes to his lap. A brief silence fell over them, and he glanced up to see Louis scrutinizing him with a very strange look; a look Harry had never seen on his face before. 

As Louis’s lips pursed and his eyes hardened, Harry realized, with a sharp, violent pang of shame, that Louis was disappointed with him for the first time in his life. Harry’s lips parted with mingled shock and hurt, but Louis simply nodded, untangling his limbs quietly from Harry’s as he rose to his feet. Harry blinked slowly, and as Louis started for the door, he closed his eyes, which had begun to burn hotly with emotional tears. 

Oh, God…

Yet, as He let his head slide into his fingers and pressed the heels of his hands to his cheeks, the unexpected happened. A shadow passed momentarily over him, and as he inhaled the familiar, wonderful scent of honey and pine and felt that indescribable feeling of soft, warm lips upon his temple, he realized that Louis had turned back. His breath seemed to freeze solidly in his chest, and his shoulders locked into stillness. He waited for a long moment, not knowing what he was waiting for, but as silence fell above him and the air grew cold, he glanced up. 

Just as he had expected, Louis had vanished.

 

❡❡❡

 

“You really think he’ll like it?” Louis asked anxiously, biting his lip as he tightened his arms around the bundle ticked into his chest and gripped the steering wheel of the SUV with his free hand. 

“I’ve got a funny feeling, yeah,” Niall said pointedly as he giggled. Louis’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he turned slightly to see Niall grinning madly as if he had just been handed the world. 

“What’re you up to?” Louis asked suddenly, his eyebrows shooting across his forehead as the corners of his mouth turned slightly. 

“Nothing,” Niall leered, the euphoric glint in his eyes contradicting his words. 

“That’s the biggest load of bull I’ve ever heard, Nialler, and I’ve listened to Harry sleeptalk.” He snorted. 

His face softened slightly at the thought of the young Cheshire lad tossing and turning, his face full of absolutely nothing but innocence and youth. It was soothing to Louis to see something so carefree and blissful, and he was always pleased when Harry crawled into his arms at night, or vise-versa. He did not need soothing pats on the back or the hum of a melody to fall into slumber—although Harry often provided both—He simply needed to glance at the lad’s peaceful, sleeping countenance, and he would be eased into shut-eye. 

Hopefully, Harry would be pleased by the Lord Mayor’s gift he had gotten him; a bundle of soft, baby pink fleece, smattered with colourful pastel polka-dots. It had been Niall who had suggested the idea of a gift in the first place, informing him that Harry received gifts each Lord Mayor’s Show back in Holmes Chapel. Well, frankly, Louis had never heard of gifts being exchanged on Lord Mayor’s, but if he had the opportunity to make Harry happy, he was sure as hell going to take it. 

Harry seemed to need a bit of cheering up lately; in fact, Louis wasn’t sure what had the lad so agitated. Harry was usually so laid back, his thoughts so simple; and now… Things were different, and he wasn’t sure those differences were very beneficial. He had a feeling that those pills rattling around in Harry's pockets had something to do with it.

“Why a blanket?” Louis asked curiously as his fingers fumbled with the soft fleece. “I mean, it’s cute and everything, and a great idea, but…why?”

“No reason,” Niall said carefully, an obvious smirk plain on his face. Louis eyed him skeptically. This entire situation was beginning to grow very fishy…

“Niall, honestly, what are you lot hiding from me?” he asked warily, running a hand through his hair. 

He was beginning to grow very sick of all the secrecy swarming the band and its relationships. First Harry—which, in all honesty, was a complete and unwelcome shock in itself, seeing as Harry was the last person on earth Louis would have ever expected to hide anything from him—and now Niall…When would the lying end? When had the honesty ended, and the secrecy began? 

He sighed pathetically, resting his cheek against the heel of his hand and smooshing the skin of his face unattractively. He squinted through what was left of his squished eye and glared unhappily out the windshield of the car. 

“What do you mean, ‘you lot?’” Niall asked suddenly, turning to eye Louis sharply from his position in the passenger’s seat. 

“I mean you and Harry,” Louis shrugged, glancing over at him. Who else? 

“What do you mean, Harry?” Niall asked carefully, although Louis had a sneaking suspicion that Niall knew exactly what he meant. 

Smirking slightly to himself, he answered in a deliberately slow and careful voice, “Harry, that green-eyed, curly-haired lad you’re in a band with—”

“Louis.” Niall rolled his eyes, “Really. What do you mean, Harry?”

“I mean, he’s been keeping a lot of things from me,” Louis said slowly, his skepticism increasing with each second. 

“What do you mean—”

“Nialler, if you ask me what I mean one more time, I swear to God…”

“What’s he been keeping from you?” Niall pressed, ignoring Louis, and Louis grew ever more confused by the knowing glint in his blue eyes. 

“Jesus, Nialler, I dunno, do I? That’s kind of the point of keeping things from someone.” 

“Louis!” he whined, bouncing in the passenger’s seat of the SUV. 

“Niall!” Louis mocked him, smiling slightly as he imitated the lad’s Irish accent. 

“Hey, that was actually pretty good,” Niall grinned before snapping back to focus. “But that’s beside the point! What’s going on between you and Harry?” 

“Honestly…” Louis sighed. “I don’t even know. We used to be so close…Not in an incredibly friendly way—Not even in a brotherly way….” 

“In a romantic way?” Niall interrupted him abruptly, his voice piping knowingly. 

Louis’s eyes widened, and had he been drinking anything, he was positive he would have choked. Breath hitching suddenly in his chest, he let a sputtered stream of indecipherable yammers through his lips. 

Romantic? Romantic? 

Eyes still round with surprise, he caught his breath and swiveled to face Niall. A nervous chuckle bubbled from the back of his throat; for surely Nialler was joking, right? …Right? Yet there he sat, blue eyes more serious and intent than ever as he gazed patiently up at Louis, clearly expecting a response. 

“Haha….Hah,” he choked lamely, his heart thudding lightly in his chest as he emitted what was possibly the most unconvincing round of laughter he had ever conjured. He waited anxiously for Niall to erupt into laughter, or shake his head with a snort and assure Louis that he’d been kidding, but still, there he sat, just looking at him. 

“Er….So….This weather…” Louis managed. Well, now Niall was snorting, but he was snorting at Louis’s astoundingly pathetic attempt at a change of subject. 

“Oh yeah, this hail is lovely, innit?” He rolled his eyes, gesturing towards the cascade of ice that had begun to pelt the windshield, and Louis swallowed, his lips pursing sheepishly. He intentionally diverted his gaze from Niall and locked his hands firmly on the steering wheel. 

“Yeah, you’re r-right…This hail is awful…I should focus on getting us home safely and—” 

“Oh, bugger off, Lou! I’m asking you right now, do you have feelings for Haz?” Niall erupted, his lip forming a frustrated pout as he slammed a pale fist onto the dashboard and glared up at Louis. 

Louis might have been more intimidated if Niall wasn’t such a complete and utter leprechaun, but with those wide, baby-blue eyes glowering up at him, and those round, rosy cheeks….Well, he was finding it somewhat difficult to take him seriously. Louis’s eyes widened with mingled anxiety and alarm, however, and he blinked slowly as Niall’s nose wrinkled in grouchiness. 

“I….” He swallowed. 

Harry? Feelings? Feelings for Harry?

He should have denied it immediately. He should have laughed it off, rolling his eyes fondly at Niall and insisting that he and Harry were nothing more than close friends. Better yet, he should have made some sort of immature joke about how they were engaged to be married, or something, yet as he moved his lips, cupping around air….

Why couldn’t he make the words come out? Why couldn’t he just deny it? 

He didn’t have feelings for Harry. He and Harry were simply very close mates; mates who happened to cuddle like a couple…

And kiss one another’s cheeks as if they were greeting a lover…

And watch over and protect each other like soul mates…

And pepper the other with sincere compliments and with promises of undying adoration and devotion…. 

Slam.

“Lou! What the fuck?” Niall exclaimed, his blue eyes widening with temporary fear and surprise as the SUV rammed violently to a stop in the middle of the road. “Shit,” he added as he went flying over the dashboard and his ribs emitted an ominous grunt. Panting with pain, he carefully let himself slide back into his seat, and he very slowly pivoted to face Louis; young, childish, leprechaun fury in his puerile face as he glared ferociously up at him. 

A deafening round of horns sounded around the SUV as passing cars honked and swerved to avoid him, but Louis could honestly not have cared less. 

His mouth hung agape, his hazel eyes wider and rounder than he thought was humanly possible, and he was leaning limply over the steering wheel, gazing unfocusedly at the dash. 

“Lou!” Niall sighed angrily, snapping his fingers before Louis’s face. “Lou, the hell? What’s wrong, did you elbow yourself in your…er…lower region?” 

But Louis might as well have been blind to the world, for thoughts of Harry, their relationship, Harry, the behaviour of the two of them, Harry, Louis’s emotions, and Harry were swirling furiously about his mind. 

Harry. Louis. Hmm.

Niall was right. They were not just friends. But…but Louis did not like him, not like that, in any case…Did he? Did he?

Louis wasn’t gay. Louis had always liked girls. He didn’t even behave in any stereotypically gay ways….

Well, fine, he did wear espadrilles, and roll the ankles of his trousers, and wear frilly scarves, and he owned an admittedly large collection of V-necks, and he supposed he did have more feminine sass and attitude than he could emotionally handle…And all right, on more than one occasion he had been flat-out asked if he was a homosexual, but….But…

But what? A small, obnoxious, irritatingly all-knowing voice whispered from the back of his head. But what, Louis? Where’s the contradiction there; the deal-breaker?

What was beginning to scare him more than anything was that, try as he may, he couldn’t find one.

Sure, he'd always thought girls were beautiful and pretty, and found himself admiring the curves of their hips and calves. He'd always liked girls. It was always girls. 

And yet, simultaneously, he'd caught himself allowing his eyes to trail the torsos of boys, as well, appreciating their strong profiles and roaming the soft swoops of their hair, but....But the way he admired boys had always been so different from the way he admired girls. It brought on different feelings and different experiences, but he'd always thought it was simply because he didn't like boys like...well, like that. 

'Different' doesn't necessarily mean 'irrelevant,' that small, obnoxiously wise voice hummed from the back of his head, and his mind began to flutter with panic as, once more, he searched for a reason to fight it down, to contradict the voice. And yet again, he couldn't seem to find any answer. 

 

He swallowed, his eyes darting wildly, nervously about the cab of the van, and his knuckles turned white against the steering wheel. Yeah, maybe his thoughts were telling him that what he felt towards Harry was not quite what it should have been, but….

…But he couldn’t be gay. He couldn’t like boys. It just couldn't happen like that. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work….

He was meant to gain millions of fans through One Direction, become a content, successful recording artist, and retire a decade later to settle down with a beautiful woman and begin a family. 

He had never factored a boy into that equation…Had never considered it…Then again, he had never, ever met another person like Harry, and although he had definitely not been a part of Louis’s future plans in the grand scheme of things, he could not, could not picture his life without the Cheshire boy, try as he may. 

It was so strange…He had met the lad literally months ago, yet he felt as if his life had only just begun that July; the moment he had entered that bathroom and laid eyes on those green orbs and that curly hair. Harry was special. Harry...He seemed to be the exception to every scenario in Louis's mind.

Louis couldn't ever imagine someday making another woman the essence of his life, falling in love and placing her at the center of his universe while Harry stood off to the side, unimportant and always second in priority to his wife. He couldn't imagining ever having someone more important in his life than Harry. He just couldn't see it happening. Harry would always be special; he would always, always be the one thing at the forefront of Louis's thoughts.

But then, how....How was he....What....How could...

Slow down, he told himself, growling slightly from the back of his throat. Slow down and think, Louis.

He and Harry? Romantic? At first thought, the idea sounded completely and utterly ridiculous; not worth casting a second glance. He would have tossed the idea over his shoulder with a laugh, because the image of he and Harry ever...ever being like...that together was just....Impossible. 

But Niall's words were causing deeper thoughts to whir around his head; undiscovered considerations. Louis and Harry. Best friends, right? But no... Romantic? What did the word "Romance" imply? When Louis thought of romance, he thought of love and dates and kisses and soft smiles and cuddles. He thought of undying promises of protection and adoration; he thought of flowers and chocolates and happiness.

Now think of Harry, he commanded himself reluctantly as he struggled to work the situation out. Harry. Whenever he thought of Harry, a smile broke across his face. When he thought of Harry, he thought of cuddling and smiles and warmth and funny and happy and promises, and....

Oh, shit...

Kissing. Romance implied kissing and touching and love....He would never do those kinds of things with Harry. He would never, ever, ever want to kiss a boy, ever. He would never kiss anyone but girls; he'd never kissed anyone but girls before, and he wasn't going to change that. He liked kissing girls. He would never kiss Harry, or love him, or tou- Well, all right, he and Harry did touch and snuggle quite a lot, and yes, they exchanged soft, serious kisses on the forehead and nose and cheek and hand and....

But....But he would never, ever kiss Harry on the mouth. No, that was a boundary he would never cross, because that was the one action that would devide affectionate friendship from romance. That wouldn't be a problem for him, would it? No, it wouldn't...It couldn't... He didn't even want to kiss Harry. He didn't want to feel Harry's warm breath on his lips; he didn't want to feel Harry's hand cupping his cheek, cradling his face; he didn't want to feel the flutter of those long eyelashes on his skin; he didn't want to finally, finally feel those lips on his...

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...." Louis muttered under his breath, eyes wide and head pounding as he struggled to block the train of dangerous thoughts coursing through his head. 

No. He couldn't. He couldn't want that from Harry, he couldn't ruin everything- not only for him, but for them, for their...friendship. No. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He would not let himself feel those kinds of things.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Me, He wondered, his teeth clenching dangerously behind his lips, his pulse beating a bit too heavily in his temples. 

“Louis? Louis. Louis!” He jumped as Niall’s loud screech startled him from his mangled, embarrassingly disorganized thoughts, and his wide green eyes flitted up to meet those of the Irish lad’s. 

“Louis…What the hell happened?” Niall asked strangely, although a quite unnerving glint of wit was gleaming in his face. 

“I….N-nothing…” Louis stuttered dishonestly, his heart thrumming very uncomfortably within his ribcage as he blinked back the heat burning behind his eyes and gripped the wheel firmly in his white knuckles. 

“Mm-hm,” Niall mumbled sarcastically. “Sure. Sure, Louis. You nearly sent the two of us through the windshield because of nothing.” 

“Niall…” Louis growled in warning through his clenched teeth, his heart pounding ever harder in his chest as his blood began to boil. He didn’t…He didn’t need anyone poking into this…this business… Not when didn’t understand it himself. 

“Harry and Louis sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I—”

“Niall James!” Louis snarled, his face set as he spun round to face the Irish boy, such rage in his eyes that for once, Niall shut up and sat still, shrinking back into the seat under Louis’s glare. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, Lou,” Niall said quietly, turning his gaze back to the ice-framed windshield, “You can’t keep it to yourself forever.”

As Louis opened and closed his lips speechlessly, his heart beginning to sink low in his chest, he quickly imagined hundreds of snappy, logical retorts to that statement; retorts claiming that Niall had no idea what he was thinking, and that if he wanted to keep that to himself, that was his decision. He didn’t need to let anything slip, he didn’t need to make anything from these confusing thoughts of Harry; anything at all. 

And yet, as the answers and replies buzzed about his mind, waiting to escape his lips and make themselves heard, Niall’s words rebounded through his head. 

Eyes widening, his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat, and as he turned his gaze pointedly back towards the foggy windshield, he blinked and closed his mouth, keeping quite silent. 

 

❡❡❡

 

Because Harry had been so unproductive at rehearsals that morning, Simon and one of the vocal coaches asked him if he could come in that evening and work on his solos privately. Harry felt he owed it to his mentor, and he had obliged willingly.

After an hour and a half of what Harry considered to be quite successful practise, he was cleared to leave, and he left the studio with a proud smile from Simon and an impressed nod from the coach. He was feeling a lot better and more confident than he had been recently, and he scuffed across the dark parking lot, he found himself in an unusually good mood.

The side effects of the pink pill had long since worn off, and a calm tranquility was enveloping his mind. At that moment, his veins were so thick with endorphins and he was feeling so relaxed that nothing was bothering him at the moment- not even his complicated dynamic that he shared with Louis. 

In fact, a rare, fresh bout of confidence was wriggling in his chest, and as he walked, the blanket and the false rose tucked away in his bag bounced against his hip, reminding him that they were there. Harry was going to give them to Louis soon. He didn't like avoiding Louis, even if he knew that...that he should. And yeah, this new-found confidence was, without a doubt, due only to the uplifting of the chemical imbalances of the pink pill Harry had swallowed, and he knew that if he were thinking clearly, he wouldn't chose to interact with Louis at all, but that wasn't the case at the moment. At the moment, he was high on both his pink pill and on his emotions for Louis, and for the time being the had dominated his mind.

He bit back the nervous smile tugging at his jittering lip as Greg carried them over the roads of northern London in the SUV. Maybe another part of his sudden fearlessness and lack of rationability was due to the fact that Greg had both windows down and the radio up, and with the enormous amount of wind and music pounding into his ears, Harry really didn't have the opportunity to think or to consider his actions. 

When he stepped out of the car a couple of minutes later and shuffled quietly across the dark carpark, he looked up as the sound of a slamming door filled the space.

“Harry’s home!” 

Harry’s head whipped round atop his shoulders as a voice—the most beautiful, smooth, familiar voice to ever exist—reached his ears, laced with childish excitement and hyperactivity. A wide grin stretched immediately across his lips before he could blink, his smile so thoroughly large that the muscles in his cheeks were beginning to ache, and his green eyes brightened. 

In that small moment, any confusing thoughts or feelings regarding Louis disappeared from his mind, and the simple fact that Louis was so incredibly excited to see him sent his heart on the edge of euphoria. 

“Louis!” he replied eagerly as the Doncaster lad bounced giddily down the front steps, a grin to match Harry’s upon his own gleaming face. Harry’s eyes only widened further as the image of Louis appeared in his frame of vision. 

He was…Well, he just….God, he looked so wonderful. There he stood, small form hunched and vibrating with energy, his tanned, muscular arms cupped by the soft lavender sleeves of his tee-shirt; his legs clad in a pair of Harry’s red sweatpants, the bottoms of which were stuffed haphazardly into red-and-black plaid booties. The look was so incredibly feminine and gentle…In fact, it was not any different at all from what Louis normally wore. There was nothing at all outstanding from his usual appearance. And yet…

Harry swallowed, blinking up at Louis’s gorgeous figure before remembering to shut his gaping mouth. His eyes softened as they landed on the sharp, flawless curve of Louis’s bronzed jaw, and the blue shards of his irises. God, he had never realised just how perfect he was…

“You’re back!” Louis cheered, grinning goofily as he began to shuffle towards Harry across the icy ground. 

“Yes, Lou,” Harry chuckled fondly, his voice low and gravelly compared to Louis’s smooth, crisp trill. “But hold on. I want to give you something.”

Louis screeched to a sudden halt, his face brightening at the mention of a gift. He was such a child… Harry smiled widely to himself before dipping his hand into the open flap of his rucksack and wrapping his fingers around the fake rose he had purchased hours before. 

“You ready?” he teased, grinning slyly and knowing that the suspense must be killing the boy. Sure enough, Louis keened anxiously, an impatient whine slipping from the back of his throat. “Close your eyes,” Harry continued slowly, and once he was sure Louis’s blue eyes were safely shut and hidden behind his fingers, he lowered himself to rest a single knee upon the ground. He felt rather ridiculous in this position, it was true, but this was Louis, and for Harry, he was an exception in every situation. 

“Harry? Harry, Harry, Harry? Can I open my eyes now?” Louis piped eagerly, bouncing on his toes as he grinned from behind his hands. What do you have? Is it cookie dough ice cream? A giftcard to Pizza Hut? A box of Curiously Cinnamon? A new pair of Toms? A cookie-dough flavoured ice lolly? …Do they even make those? God, that sounds delicious, doesn’t it?” 

“Louis,” Harry said loudly over Louis’s blabber, laughing slightly. “Shut up and open your eyes.” 

“Really?” Louis gasped excitedly, and Harry chuckled in response. Smiling like the idiot he was, Louis flung his hands from his face and his blue eyes darted happily about the space before landing on Harry’s kneeling form. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his gaze focused on the false rose in Harry’s right hand. 

Harry watched his expression nervously, wondering what Louis’s reaction would be. Would he laugh? Would he be touched? Angry, perhaps? …he wouldn’t’ be repulsed would he? 

Harry exhaled a sigh in relief as Louis’s blue eyes only brightened further, now softening slightly, and his hand flew to his mouth in mingled surprise and affection. 

“Awh, Haz,” Louis breathed, his eyes seeming to melt in his skull, and Harry’s grin stretched ever-wider across his cheeks, which were now beginning to throb quite horribly. Smiling just as ferociously as Louis was now, Harry slowly rose to his feet, the flower still outstretched in his hand, and he stepped forward to slip the rose in between Louis’s fingers. 

“I know it’s not a new pair of Toms, or a giftcard,” he said softly, anxiously. “But…You know, I thought…Maybe…” His green eyes frantically roamed Louis’s face, searching for a response, while Louis’s remained locked firmly on the flower in his palm. “I mean, if you want me to take it back…Then again, it was only a few pounds…You know what, this was stupid, I’ll just send it to Gemma for Christma—”

Harry was cut off, his eyes widening, as something warm, soft, and unbelievably familiar and comfortable snuggled into his chest, and before he knew it, he had been enveloped in the most wonderful embrace he could imagine. He blinked, dazed, for a long moment before he exhaled with relief and gratefulness, allowing his own arms to circle Louis’s figure they way they always did; sliding tightly about his waist, tugging him closely into his torso. 

“You like it, then?” he whispered anxiously in Louis’s ear after a very long moment of silence in which they simply relaxed in each other’s warmth, and he felt Louis’s lips form a smile as they moved against his pulse. 

“Of course I do, you silly berk,” Louis chuckled quietly in response, his warm, honey-scented breath tickling Harry’s ear and falling across his face. Harry shivered slightly, his heart racing, and he wondered vaguely if Louis could feel the massive drumming in his chest as their bodies pressed only more tightly to one another. “How couldn't I? It’s from you, isn’t it?” At this, of course, Harry’s cheeks only warmed further, and his mind begn buzzing irrationally. 

“Thank you,” Louis added gently, his energized, comical voice suddenly dropping to a soft, sweet murmur as his arms tightened around Harry, his fingers kneading the soft skin of his waist and the warmth of the back of his neck. 

“Anything, Boo,” was all Harry could reply in a raspy whisper, his voice seeming to have been robbed from his lungs. “You know, that’s not all,” he added, clearning his throat and making an effort to speak more freely. 

“Isn’t it?” Louis asked dazedly, withdrawing slightly from Harry’s grasp to gaze into his face with surprise. 

“No way,” Harry grinned, his excitement beginning to rise once more as he giddily reached round into his rucksack and, from its depths, drew the neatly-rolled bundle of pistachio fleece, packaged with a perfectly-tied ribbon. 

“Is…Is that for me?” Louis asked, blinking as his jaw fell open and he stared down at the present. 

“Course it is,” Harry replied nervously, taken aback by Louis’s reaction. 

“But…But look!” Louis exclaimed with a surprising amount of delight as he grinned ecstatically and drew from his own satchel a nearly identical swathe of fabric. It was quite similar to the once Harry now held in his hand, although the bundle in Louis’s arms was a soft shade of pink, rather than green, and while Harry’s blanket was wrapped neatly and precisely in its bowed package, Louis’s was crumpled into a messy heap that would clearly need ironing straight away. Harry, however, could not possibly have given less of a damn. 

“I got you the same thing!” Louis screeched, surprise and glee lacing his voice as he skipped once more to Harry’s side, his cheeks pink as he gazed down at the blanket Harry had given to him.

Eyes wide with alarm, his lips parted, and he glanced back and forth between the matching “His-And-Her” sweetheart-blankets now clutched in both of Louis’s fists. After a long moment, he blinked stupidly before comprehension dawned on his face. 

“Niall,” he muttered darkly, knowing he should probably be upset, and yet, he could not possibly have been more thankful towards the Irish lad in that instant. 

“What was that?” Louis asked, the happiness still plain on his face as he batted the blankets in the air. 

“Nothing,” Harry chuckled, stepping forward to string his fingers through the pink blanket Louis had bought for him. Just him. “It doesn’t matter. Louis…” he began, his green eyes growing warm as he looked up, gratefulness and adoration in every shard of his gaze. 

“Don’t! No thank you’s!” Louis piped immaturely, springing forward to interrupt Harry with another sweet, perfect embrace. “Except from me,” he added stubbornly as an after thought before clutching Harry’s gift to him tightly against his chest and smiling like a mouse as he curled into the fabric, his eyes twinkling, and Harry smiled softly. 

“That colour suits you, Boo,” he said quietly, his voice soaked with sincerety. 

“Matches my eyes, does it?” Louis teased, grinning happily as his arms tightened around Harry’s neck, and Harry laughed, nodding vigorously. Louis blushed all the same, a delighted little smile tugging tightly at his lips and eyes, and Harry pursed his lips, pretending bashfully not to notice. But he did—of course he did, and he could not have been more thrilled. 

“C’mon inside,” Louis coaxed him lightly, unwinding a single arm from around the younger lad’s shoulders and tugging him towards the front porch. “We’ll need to put these blankets to good use.” 

“What?” Harry questioned, the smile still curling round his teeth as he playfully snaked his own arm back around Louis’s waist, his fingers biting at his sides, and they trotted awkwardly up the steps. 

“C’mon, Harry m’boy, these blankets are not merely for display, oh no!” Louis scolded teasingly, and Harry sniggered, blushing as Louis tapped him sternly on the tip of his nose. “No, these blankets need to be as loved as their owners.” Louis continued, dragging Harry eagerly through the front door, and Harry sighed with relief as he was suddenly enveloped in the warm, cozy heat of the toasty house. 

His face a giddy mask of energy, happiness, and impatience, Louis whined as he dragged Harry roughly across the floor of the entry way and into the cozy, empty common room. 

“We’d been planning a movie night, hadn’t we?” Louis asked excitedly, grinning as he snatched a DVD from atop the coffee table and crammed it into the set. 

“Blimey, Louis, you don’t want to break it!” Harry laughed, head thrown back as he giggled, and Louis glanced sheepishly ip, his cheeks pinking slightly as he realised he’d amused Harry once more, and his smile only widened. 

Once he’d managed to begin the movie without shattering the television, he clambered clumsily onto the sofa, bouncing happily. Grinning expectantly up at Harry, he patted the area beside him, and, smiling shyly, Harry slid onto the sofa, legs folding beneath him. Louis groaned as he settled himself a safe distance away from the older boy, and he wrapped his fingers around his wrist to tug him forward and towards Lou. Cheeks burning with heat and his heart pattering quickly in his chest, Harry allowed Louis to drape his arm around his waist and tug the younger lad into his side, in all too unfriendly manner. 

“You really need to quit doing that,” Louis chuckled, although an anxious glint had appeared in his gaze as his fingers tightened securely around Harry’s middle, and Harry stiffened in his arms. 

“Doing what?” Harry asked nervously, a forcefully casually tone, sounding far too phony, now taken on by his voice. He knew exactly what Louis was talking about, but of course, he wasn’t about to admit that. Louis seemed to see right through it, however, to absolutely no one’s surprise. 

“Whatever, Haz,” he rolled his eyes, and despite his obvious exasperation with Harry’s dishonesty, the smile was still broad on his lips. “You’re here now.” 

Harry frowned slightly as he pondered this, lines of thought creasing his forehead and causing his lips to pucker slightly as they always did when he was focused. You’re here now… Did his presence; his closeness with Louis actually matter than much to the Doncaster boy? No, he thought dismally, quickly slapping himself mentally. He was over-analyzing this. He was so thoroughly wrapped up in his feelings for Louis, and he needed to stop. He needed to quit taking every single thing Lou said or did into such in-depth consideration, and yet, he couldn’t help himself…Would he ever be able to help himself? 

As Louis hummed happily to himself, grinning as he plucked the edges of his own green blanket between his thumb and middle finger and draped it carefully over his lap, Harry gazed into that childish, beautiful face, and he realised that it was highly unlikely. 

“Quit,” Louis whined, his voice jokingly stern as he giggled and pressed a fingertip to Harry’s cheek. 

“What?” Harry asked stupidly, his mouth parted as he blinked down at the boy cuddled into his side. 

“You’re thinking far too hard again, Harold,” Louis scolded him, pouting slightly as he slapped his thigh in mock-outrage. “What are we going to do with you, you silly thing?” 

“Shut up,” Harry grinned, trying and failing to repress the enormous smile that was now curling round his teeth once more while Louis tutted disapprovingly to himself. Louis tutted to himself, making sure Harry could hear as he jokingly muttered, “The nerve…” and Harry giggled, despite himself. 

“You could never be mad at me,” Harry said loftily, smiling as he stuck his nose pompously in the air and fluttered his eyelashes. Louis’s blue eyes brightened as he realised that Harry was finally coming out of his shell; messing about and joking with him as usual. Rekindling their natural chemistry.

“Unfortunately, you’re probably right,” he smiled fondly towards the curly-haired boy, eyes soft, and as Harry dipped his head down to meet Louis’s gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Those incredibly blue eyes, framed by those incredibly silky eyelashes and glistening above those incredibly lovely lips, were dawned on his once more, and God, Harry didn’t think he could manage this much longer. 

He wanted so badly to tear his gaze from Lou’s, to save himself the emotional conflict and the embarrassment of stuttering and turning red as a ruby, and yet…Nothing had ever felt so right. 

As Louis’s fingers crawled slowly from Harry’s waist to his shoulder, his palm cupping round his neck, he began to trace small, delicate patterns into the warm and sensitive skin beneath Harry’s ear. Their gaze never broke once, and maybe that was why Harry’s heart was pounding so furiously and his breath was falling so rapidly from his lips. 

Maybe his senses were in overdrive due to the adoration in Louis’s eyes and the slight, serene smile dawning on his parted lips, barely there at all.

Maybe Harry’s mind seemed to be floating like a cloud because of the familiar, honey-scented breath falling from Louis’s mouth to warm the skin of his collarbone, sending his nerves tingling. 

Maybe it was simply Louis. It was because of Louis, and that was all the explanation Harry would ever need for feeling the way he did. 

As those soft, delicate fingertips traced meaningless illustrations and patterns across Harry’s unusually warm and flushed skin, Harry felt himself beginning to unravel, despite his better judgment. A smile of mingled triumph and adoration lit Louis’s lips as the older boy’s eyelashes fluttered and Harry melted slowly into his grasp, curling beneath the two matching blankets and nuzzling instinctively into Louis’s arms. He sighed, both out of comfort and a calm sort of frustration, and simply allowed himself to succumb to the temptation of Louis’s embrace, nestling his head in the dip of his neck and shoulder, just as he always had so many weeks ago…

“Mmm,” Louis murmured quietly, his cheek pressing lightly to the crown of Harry’s curly head, soft whirs of air falling from his nose and sending those brown ringlets fluttering. “I’ve missed this, you know.”

Harry’s heart began to flutter lightly, quickly in his chest, and as he closed his eyes, he felt his cheeks glow, and before he could stop himself he’d murmured, “Me too,” Because he had missed this. God, he’d missed this, wrapping himself in Louis’s arms and absorbing every ounce of warmth, comfort, and fondness that he could. 

He loved snuggling into the older boy’s grasp. He loved feeling the tips of Louis’s fingers absent-mindedly brush lazy, delicate patterns across his skin, where his tee-shirt rode up, or where his sleeve had slipped from his shoulder. He loved the steady rise and fall of Louis’s soft, warm middle beneath him. He loved linking his fingers around Louis’s neck and knowing that Louis was his and that he was Louis’s—at least, for that small moment in time. He loved to rest his cheek against Louis’s chest and listen to the strong, quick beat of his heart, dull and reassuring. So he did. 

As his fingers slipped from their curled position against his chest to Louis’s waist, the older boy seemed to know exactly what he wanted, and without hesitation, he bit his lip to stifle the smile pressing at his cheeks and let himself lean back across the cushions of the couch, his smaller hands wrapping around Harry’s middle and tugging him gently to his torso. Harry’s eyes, never opening, fluttered slightly as he readjusted his position, curling beside Louis on the cushions and wrapping his arms around his slender waist. 

He knew he'd regret this in the morning. Hell, he was already beginning to regret this now. And yet, as if it were second nature, his head seemed to move itself from the soft pillows to nestle against Louis’s chest, just above his heart. As that same, reassuring beat sounded quietly against his ear, he felt Louis’s cheek press gently to the crown of his head, his nose nuzzling the curls, and a low, gentle swooping seemed to rush through Harry’s stomach. Another soft, nearly inaudible sigh falling from his parted lips, he instinctually wriggled upward to meet Louis’s touch, and heat flooded through his body as those rosy lips pressed themselves to Harry’s forehead. 

…Yeah, he was a goner.


	19. Gold Rush

❡❡❡

 

Louis had never been much of a thinker, really.  He was more of a  _doer._

He tended to run through life  _doing_ before thinking, and he was definitely what one might call a person of  _action_ rather than a person of thoughts.

Ordinarily, this would work to his disadvantage- especially when it came to things like throwing impromptu parties during his mum's holidays, and playing practical jokes on his professors.  He would act- grinning as he dialed his mates and requested a wine cooler or five, or replaced the ink cartridges of the school printer with pudding- and then he would think several hours later, when he wound up with a pounding headache, or an impending suspension.  So, being more of a _doer_ usually didn't help him out.

This time, however, he found himself grateful for that little quirk.  If he had been more of a  _thinker_ than a  _doer,_

it would have made his hairy situation (or should he say... _Harry_ situation...) a lot more difficult.  His short attention span and lack of consideration while  _doing_ allowed him to keep his mind off of...Well, more complicated matters- matters like  _these;_ matters that included odd, fluttering feelings that ignited in the pit of his stomach with every touch and every glance from Harry.  He could cuddle with Harry late at night, he could grin as they laced their fingers together over the spare seat in the car, he could card his hands through those curls-  _God,_ those curls- and not need to even  _consider_ his strange feelings until much later, when all else was quiet and his mind was buzzing with frightening possibilities.

He hated those moments when he lay awake at night, sometimes curled against Harry's chest and sometimes swinging his legs from the bar stools in the empty kitchen, and simply let his mind race.  He hated those moments when he took time to himself to realise just how  _messed up_ his relationship was with Harry, and even more, just how  _messed up_ it was that he didn't quite care how unhealthy that relationship might have been.  

Other times, though, times when he was simply  _doing,_ he was much happier, much more relaxed.  Times like those, he could run his thumb up and down the curve of Harry's jaw without thinking about anything except how nice he looked in the dark light of the den, and in the flash of the television.  Times like those, he could smile to himself as Harry mumbled incomprehensibly in his sleep, lips bumping together clumsily and slurring the stream of babble whirring from his mouth, not thinking about anything except for how damn  _endearing_ it was.  Times like those, he could just enjoy Harry- enjoy his company, enjoy his clumsiness, enjoy his idiocy, enjoy the way his eyes lit like the sun whenever they landed on Louis...He could just enjoy him.  And he did, for as long as he could before the thoughts and the questions caught up with him.

Louis may not have known it, but Harry, on the other hand, happened to be much more of a  _thinker_ than a  _doer._

Yeah, it was true that the majority of his thoughts were occupied by questions such as, whether or not a person can set ice on fire, or what a piece of cheese would say if it got its picture taken, but he really was a clever lad.  His thoughts tended to run a bit deeper than those of others, and when presented with a situation or an issue, he tended to analyse each and every aspect and possibility of that issue.  Now, unlike Louis's situation, this particular trait proved more beneficial than it did unfortunate, particularly when it came to school and business matters.  He'd always been a model student, and his mum had always gushed over what a fantastic entrepreneur he'd make when he owned his own bakery, or became a lawyer.  

Other times, however, this particular trait proved to be rather...well,  _obnoxious._

It had never really helped him socially- one of the reasons why he'd always been on the awkward side when it came to cliques and friends- and it sure wasn't helping him now; not when he was constantly deducing every single word to pass through Louis's lips, and every single touch or embrace of the older boy. 

While Louis could numb his mind and grin and laugh like an idiot when they were together, not thinking about how nice it felt when their fingers linked or when their knees bumped; Harry did nothing but  _ponder_ and  _worry._

Louis would smile when Harry's thumb ran over his hip, and Harry would think  _Oh God, he's smiling, Oh God, I wonder what he's thinking, Oh God, I wonder whether he likes that, Oh God, I wonder whether he likes_ me,  _Oh God, I wonder if I'm suppose to wonder these things at all..._

And unfortunately, it was only inevitable that, as Harry's thoughts convinced him that this wasn't okay and that this was  _weird,_ he begin to distance himself from Louis.

And Louis  _hated_ it. 

Harry hated it too.  He hated padding quietly towards the boys' room, seeing Louis sitting alone and expectant on Harry's bunk, and Harry freezing before hurrying past the room and towards the kitchen instead.  He hated turning red whenever Louis so much as  _glanced_ at him,and he hated muttering some rubbish about having eaten dinner earlier whenever Louis asked him to the Italian restaurant down the road.  

 But he didn't know what else to  _do._

He'd never been to skilled socially; yes, he was considered to be a bit of a charmer, but that  _charm_ was mostly due to his total and utterly endearing cluelessness.  It was frankly adorable and everyone seemed to love him for it, but it didn't mean he was experienced with...with  _people._ No, sir.

He didn't know what to do when a pretty girl dropped a dirty line.  He didn't know what to do when that popular group of kids invited him to eat lunch with them in secondary school.  He didn't know what to do during an awkward silence, he didn't know what to do when someone complimented his clothes or hair, and he most  _certainly_ didn't know what to do when a beautiful boy that he happened to be desperately in love with wanted a platonically physical relationship. He  _really_ didn't know what to do.  So, he did the only thing he could, and he began ignoring the situation.  Yeah, he knew that he was being cowardly and immature, but if he acted as if the issue didn't exist, it allowed him to go through a life a little more normally.  

Besides, when he  _was_ with Louis and when he let Louis cuddle him and pepper his face with kisses, he absolutely  _lost_ it.  His mind was an unhealthy blob of  _'Oh goodness, I'm cuddling Louis Tomlinson, this is wonderful,'_ and  _'What the hell is wrong with us?'_ He was both elated and anxious; he was both giddy with delight and furious with himself for letting such... _complicated_ things happen between the two of them.  

He couldn't control his emotions, and he most definitely couldn't control his actions.  He couldn't control the way his face was wrought with overwhelming panic, yet he couldn't control the way he seemed to melt into Louis's touch and the way his hands seemed to find their way to his waist.  He couldn't control the reluctance and uncomfortability lining his limbs when he and Louis were in the same room, yet he couldn't control the butterflies that bloomed to life in the pit of his stomach whenever the older boy's hand brushed his.   

Maybe that was what scared him.  Maybe it was the total lack of control he was feeling; the total tornado of overwhelming uncertainty.  He'd never liked to be out of control of his feelings or of his actions, and he  _certainly_ wasn't liking it now.  No.

And yet, Harry had a looming, churning sense of guilt that his fear of the  _Louis_ situation was based on something completely different altogether.  Something...bad.

Ever since he was seven years old, since the day he met Robin Twist, Harry'd been showered in rants of religion and preaching, delivered by the man who would, eventually, become his stepfather. 

He'd always liked Robin.  He was a little rigid and little conservative, and his biological father Des hadn't ever really approved of his relationship with Anne, but he was a good guy and he respected Harry and his family.  He worshipped the ground Anne walked upon, and that was more than enough for Harry, but he was also supportive when it came to Harry's and Gemma's educations, and he was always there to cook a lovely dinner with Harry or to help Gemma with her maths.  

He'd been a good dad, and Harry thought he was a good man as well.  

But aside from the helpful, nurturing persona Robin seemed to emanate was a deeper, stricter side of his personality.  He was a man very dedicated and devoted to religion, and he liked to think that others needed to be just as dedicated and devoted to religion as he was.  This had always been a little bit difficult for Anne, seeing as she was typically not a very religious person, but before Harry knew it, the four of them were attending services every Sunday at the small church down the street.

Gemma had put her foot down immediately, claiming bravely that when she was older, she'd abide to the religion of her choice on her own.  Robin had been disapproving, but Anne, of course, was supportive of her daughter's open-mindedness, and who was he to stop his stepdaughter from believing in what she wanted?

Harry had been different.  It wasn't that he hadn't  _liked_ church, or that he hadn't been dedicated to the religion.  He just didn't  _get_ it.  He hadn't understood the wide words spoken in the holy texts, and he hadn't understood the unusual guidelines followed by the members of the church.  But Robin had, and Robin was an adult and he had helped Harry with his lettering, so it must have made sense somehow.  

But Harry had grown only more and more confused as the youth group leaders spoke of religious traditions.  Some things, he had understood perfectly, like the random acts of kindness, and the necessity to be kind and loving to everyone on earth.  But other things confused him, like the church's disapproval of some people with certain skin colours, or of those who loved people that they shouldn't.  If they were kind to some people and intolerant of others, then how could Harry be loving to everyone? It all seemed very contradictory to him.

He'd known what kind of people the leaders had been speaking about.  He'd seen the odd couple living down the street from the Styles', the couple that was missing a wife and instead was composed of two husbands.  Their names were Michael and David, and Michael wore sweaters and nice hats that looked like his mother's, and David was a very tall football player who looked a little like Robin.  They were very nice, and sometimes Michael had brought Anne very delicious pastries and coupons to her favourite clothing stores, and David had been the first person to teach Harry was woodworking was.  

Yet, Harry had still been confused when he first saw them, thinking,  _"But where's the mommy?  Where's the wife?_

"Gemma had explained bossily to him that not all families needed a mommy, and not all families needed a daddy.  As long as two people loved each other and cared about each other, then that was all a family needed.  Harry had bitten his lip, and as he had watched the two men smile and kiss on their front porch, he had decided that what Gemma had said made perfect sense.

But Robin and his church told him differently.  They told him that loving someone of your gender wasn't natural, and that it went against God and the holy texts.  They told him that, completely contrary to what Gemma had said, those weren't  _real_ families, because real families with children and love could only be formed with a man and a woman.  Harry supposed that this made sense, because two men couldn't have a baby without a woman, and two women couldn't have a baby without a man.  But a family was  _love,_ and like Gemma had said, if two people loved each other, then that made all the difference, right?

_"No,_ " Robin had told him gently, shaking his head and patting Harry's curls affectionately.    _"Women are meant to love men, Harry, and men are meant to love women."_

_"But Michael and David love each other,"_ Harry had pointed out, nose wrinkled in confusion as he had struggled to figure this all out.   _"Michael makes nice dinners for David, and sometimes they dance, and David kisses Michael and holds his hand._ "  He'd watched as Robin's jaw hardened slightly.

_"That doesn't make it okay, Harry.  God says that it's wrong, and if it's against the word of God, then it is considered sin.  Men love women, and women love men, and anyone else who thinks differently is a sinner._

"Harry had only nodded, biting back tears as he wondered if that made he and Gemma sinners, or if that made his mum a sinner.  He hadn't wanted to hear anymore, so he'd hopped off of Robin's lap and hurried to his room to think about what he'd just said to him.

And yet, while Harry had considered, he couldn't remember anything being said in the holy text about homosexuality being wrong.

As the years had passed and as Harry gained more knowledge and more experience in the world, he began to ask more questions.  He'd still attended church, because he liked most of the ideas and principles of the church.  He liked the idea of being kind and gracious to everyone, and he liked the idea of God; the idea that he was never alone and that some sort of miracle or spirit was always with him, guiding him.  

But he  _still_ hadn't understood the church's intolerance towards certain races, and he most  _definitely_ didn't understand its intolerance towards people like Michael and David.  They were nice people.  They were gracious and loving, just like the church encouraged people to be, and they never bothered anyone with their odd love.  They kept to themselves, and they never spoke about homosexuality to anyone.  They were just like the other members of Robin's church, except they were two men that seemed beautifully in love with one another.  Harry couldn't help but wonder what on earth was so wrong about that.  Was anything wrong about that at all?

His confusion had only grown, and as he had become more and more overwhelmed by his contradicting respect for the church and his respect for Michael and David, he had started to search for answers.  

One afternoon, on his way home from secondary school, he had stopped in front of Michael and David's house. Michael had been reading a magazine on the porch, and David had been chopping firewood from a fallen tree in the front yard.  Harry waved, a little bit timidly, because for all he knew he could have been communicating with  _sinners,_ but when David grinned and Michael invited him to the porch for crisps and tart, he had seemed to forget about his nervousness. They had talked idly for a while before Harry had finally asked the questions that had been tugging at his mind for the past several years.

_"Michael,_ " he'd asked quietly, hands folded politely in his lap.   _"Do you and David love each other?"_

_"Of course,"_ Michael had smiled, and a knowing glint had appeared in his eye, as if he'd known what Harry was thinking.   _"We love each other very, very much."_

_"Why?"_ Harry had asked desperately, face wrought with the desire to understand, and Michael had pursed his lips for a moment, looking a little upset.

_"Your stepdad's been taking to church, hasn't he?_ " he'd asked, and Harry had nodded, biting his lip guiltily.  _"You know what?"_ Michael continued gently, and Harry had cocked his head.   _"There are so many different religions and different opinions on the earth, Harry.  There are Hindus, Muslims, Mormons, Christians, Catholics, Protestants, Atheists, Scientologists..."_

_"What about them?_ " Harry had asked, eyebrows furrowed.  He hadn't known where Michael was going with this.

_"Well, every belief thinks that_ they  _alone are right about the world, and about matters like God and Jesus.  Tell me, darling, what does_ your  _church tell you about itself?"_

Harry had frowned, considering.  The church had never used words like,  _"We think..."_ or  _"This church believes..._ " It had always sounded to reassured, so completely convinced in what it was saying, especially when they used phrases like  _"This is..."_ and  _"We know that..."_ The church believed that they, above all others, knew what was right and what the truth was.

_"They tell me the truth,"_ Harry had shrugged, quoting one of the religious leaders directly.   _"They say that if we're kind to others and if we open our hearts to God and Good, that we'll know the truth and we'll know what's right."_

_"See?"_ Michael had smiled.   _"Let me tell you something.  On the other side of the world, in places like India and Bangladesh, people are being taught that there are multiple Gods, and that paranormal forces like Karma exist.  In places like Pakistan and Saudi Arabia, people are being taught from the Qur'an, and that one will go to hell for eating pork, or for drinking alcohol.  Some people don't believe in God or the holy spirit at all, thinking that the universe revolves entirely around science.  Some religions even believe in Magick and Witchcraft."_

_"Seriously?_ " Harry had asked breathlessly, eyebrows raised.  Somehow, he highly doubted that some believed in Magick and Witchcraft.

_"Most definitely,"_ Michael had nodded.   _"And you know what?  Every single one of those religions and beliefs, no matter how unusual they sound, thinks that_ they  _are right; that_ they  _alone know the truth of the world."_

_"But,"_ Harry had said slowly, face wrinkled with thought.   _"If every belief thinks that they are right, how can we know which religion is true?"_

_"That's the thing, love,_ " Michael had said knowingly, offering Harry another slice of tart.   _"We can't.  We can only choose to believe in what_ we  _as individuals think is right._ " 

Harry had fallen silent after that.  Listening to Michael had offered him much greater insight than anything he'd heard in his six years of attending the church.  This made  _sense.  This,_ the belief that  _no one_ was right about the universe, was correct. Open-mindedness and respect for others' opinions; now  _that_ was right.

_"Michael,_ " he'd finally asked quietly, and Michael had nodded expectantly.   _"What do_ you  _believe?  What religion do you and David belong to?"_ Michael had only smiled, blinking thoughtfully for a long moment before replying.

_"We believe in love, Harry,_ " he had said, his eyes never leaving his partner.   _"We believe in being kind to others, and we believe in acceptance of one other.  We believe in respecting what other people believe, no matter how odd or wrong it may seem to us, and we believe in happiness."_

He had turned to eye Harry thoughtfully, considering the boy before him.   _"I know Robin and the church have been telling you that David and I shouldn't be together.  And you know what? If that's what you believe, then that's wonderful.  If that's what you believe, then I'm happy you've found something to cling to, some belief or religion to abide by.  It's entirely your decision to accept homosexuality, or to disapprove of it. I'm in no place to take that right away from you."_

Harry had nodded, smiling as he felt some sort of freedom, some sort of control in his life and his thoughts, and Michael waved his hand respectfully in his direction.

_"Thanks, Michael.  That's kind of you,"_ Harry had said quietly, and Michael had only beamed.  

_"Of course, Harry.  All David and I ask of the church and of others is that they, in turn, respect_ us _and_ our _beliefs.  I ask that they are devoted and dedicated to their faith under the condition that they allow us to be devoted to ours.  We're all equal, aren't we?  We should all receive the same treatment, shouldn't we?"_ and Harry nodded.   _"I love David,"_ Michael said simply.   _"And I'm happy with him.  He's happy with me, and we don't hurt others with our love. If the church encourages kindness and the right to pursuit happiness, then it is only right that they allow us to be happy with each other."_

Harry hadn't forgotten Michael's words since.  He'd carried them with him when he sat quietly through church, he carried them with him when others cast nasty looks towards the lesbian couple in his year, and he carried them with him when he was thirteen, and Robin came home one night to see that he was cuddling with one of his best friends Charles.  

Harry hadn't understood why Robin had been so angry.  Harry had been cold and bored, and Charles had been cold and bored, and before he knew it, their arms had wrapped around one another and Harry's confusion had been distracting him from the movie blaring on the screen.  It wasn't that he'd  _liked_ cuddling with Charles... It hadn't been particularly nice or comforting.  It had just been warm, and because it had been so chilly in the room and because Charles had seemed to  _want_ to cuddle, he had, and when Robin found him with Charles' s cheek resting against his shoulder, he had wished that he _hadn't._

_"What the hell?"_ Robin had fumed after sending Charles straight home, the poor boy's face red and hurt.   _"Harry Styles, what were you doing with that boy?"_

_"We were cold!"_ Harry had pled.   _"We were just keeping warm, that was all!"_

_"Right,"_ Robin had scowled.    _"Right, I come home to see my stepson wrapped around another lad, and I'm expected to believe you were just_ cold." 

_"But we were!"_ Harry had hollered indignantly, face paling with his frustration.   _"We really were!  It's not like I wanted him to cuddle with me like that, but he seemed to like it, and he's my friend!  What was I supposed to do?"_

Robin had assessed Harry, jaw clenched and his eyes quite sharp as they ran up and down the frame of his fuming stepson.  Harry's situation might have been, well, a bit  _hairy,_ but it was common knowledge to everyone who had ever spoken to him that he was a terrible liar.  Eventually, Robin's soldiers slumped, and he pursed his lips disapprovingly. 

_"All right,"_ He'd sighed.   _"All right.  If you swear to me that it was nothing more..._ "

_"I swear,"_ Harry had grumbled solemnly, and Robin crossed his arms over his chest.  _"But Robin,"_ Harry had continued.   _"Even if it had been something more, you'd have no right to be angry."_

_"I beg your pardon?"_ Robin had frowned.   _"Of course I would have.  Homosexuality is a sin, Harry-_ "

_"That's what you_ think _,"_ Harry had insisted, a pleading tone reaching his voice.   _"That's what the church thinks, and how are we to know that it's right?  How do we know that homosexuality is a sin?"_

_"It's God's word!"_ Robin had said, eyes wide, as if he refused to belief his own stepson was questioning the church.   _"Its written, and Jesus-"_

" _It's the word of the church,"_ Harry had said helplessly.   _"It's the word of your church, Robin, and there are a lot of other people who think that God is okay with homosexuality.  You may be right, and they may be right...Who knows?"_

_"Harry, what are you talking about?  You've read the scriptures; you've heard the sermons.  Homosexuals are sinners, and you know that!  Why are you questioning your faith?"_

_"Because that's what it is, it's a_ faith,"  _Harry had shrugged.  "We've no way to prove it.  Robin, if you don't like homosexuality, that's your decision and I respect that, but I personally don't think there's anything wrong with it.  You love me, don't you?_ " Harry'd asked, eyes wide and innocent, and Robin had only been able to sigh, relenting.

_"Of course I do, darling, I love you, your mother, and Gemma very much.  You know that."_ He'd sighed.

_"Would me being gay really change that?"_ Harry had asked, biting his lip.  Robin's face had drained of colour, eyes widening.

_"Harry, are you-"_

_"No,"_ Harry had interrupted, sighing.   _"No, I....I'm not Gay.  But even if I was, would you love me any less just because I was happy with a boy, instead of a girl?_ "  

Robin had been able to do nothing but stare.  He had gaped, face twitching with indecision and overwhelming emotion, and that had been enough to send Harry over the edge.  Chin trembling and eyes burning in his head, he'd spun on the spot and hurried towards his room, very much wanting to be alone, away from the scary judgment of others, because even though he was ninety-nine percent sure of his heterosexuality, the idea of his parents not loving him because he could have been gay was...unthinkable. 

He still carried that fear today, still help it in his head like a disease he couldn't banish, and try as he may, he couldn't rid himself of the thought of not earning his parents' love.  He loved Robin, he really did, and he loved Anne more than anything in the world.  He knew Gemma would never hate him for having feelings for a boy, but he couldn't be sure how his mum would react to it, and he  _knew_ Robin would think of his stepson as a sinner.  He would hate him.  Harry couldn't  _handle_ that, he couldn't....He  _couldn't..._

Harry knew as well as anyone that love was love, and that it didn't matter whether it was between a boy and a girl, a boy and a boy, or a girl and a girl.  He knew that everyone had the right to love and happiness, regardless of what other may have said, and he knew there was nothing-  _nothing-_ wrong with being homosexual or bisexual.  Yet, he couldn't be sure that his  _family_ knew this.  

Whenever Louis held him- despite how wonderful and how loved it made him feel- he couldn't shake the horrible, guilty feeling that he was doing something that would disappoint his loved ones.  He didn't want to disappoint anyone, least of all the man who'd cared for him and raised him for nine years.  

He knew that, if Robin were to grow angry over the fact that Harry was in love with another man, Harry could never begrudge him for it.  He knew Robin was only trying to do what he thought was right, that he thought he would be protecting Harry from sin and from ideas like hell.  Harry only wished Robin could understand that Harry could not  _help_ the way he felt towards boys and girls, and that if people like Michael and David were considered to be good people, then he was a good person too, and he shouldn't be seen as a "sinner" or as going to "hell."  

Harry didn't believe in either.  He didn't believe in "bad" people.  His childish naivety hindered him in a way that allowed him to see the good in people, even if they appeared to be rather horrible from first impression.  He didn't believe in sinners or hell; there were only good people on this planet- good people who did bad things.  He couldn't be a bad person for simply  _loving,_ could he?  He couldn't...

And yet, it wouldn't matter what he personally thought, because his thoughts would never be shared by some of the most important people to him.  His mother... If she disapproved of bisexuality, what would she think of Harry?  Of his feelings for Louis?  His mother meant so much to him; he couldn't stand living with her hatred.  And Robin?  He loved his stepdad, and he wanted him to be proud of Harry.  If his own stepfather didn't love him and if he wasn't proud of him, what would he do?  

He  _couldn't._

He couldn't live with the knowledge that some of the most important people in his life hated him; no, no, no...

He couldn't continue like this; feeling guilty and horrible every time he imagined Louis's lips and legs.  He couldn't continue to feel as if he were out of control of his emotions, he just...

He needed to begin to gain some restraint in his life; some power and organisation.  He just didn't know if he could do that when everything he did and thought was so heavily influenced by the beautiful boy with those damning blue eyes...

He began to find excuses to keep his distance; saying yes when Zayn offered to take him to the coffee shop in the shopping center; claiming he was busy with rehearsals whenever Louis asked him to cuddle.  He  _wanted_ to cuddle and to be close with Louis- He wanted to spend every moment by the Doncaster boy's side, and he wanted more than anything to make Louis happy. He just wasn't sure of the consequences that would come with it.  He'd risked consequence before, and he couldn't risk them now.  Not when Louis was involved.

As he pulled himself further and further away from the blue-eyed boy, he was finding it more and more difficult to look himself in the mirror, to speak with his mum or with Robin over the phone, and all he could do was force another small pink pill down his throat day after day, and try to  _forget._

Running away from his problems was like slipping into a comfortable pair of shoes.

 

❡❡❡

 

Louis was going out of his mind.

His favourite blouse was missing from the wash, Zoe had forgotten to make Italian food for lunch that day when she'd  _promised_ to make Italian food, he'd just been shouted down by Simon for forgetting to bring his sheet music to rehearsals for the  _fourth_ time, and he hadn't so much as received a  _glance_ from his best friend in over a week.

Yes, he was a bit stressed, to say the least.

"Louis, get up."

"Mmh." Louis groaned.  

"Now!" The voice hollered, and Louis's nose wrinkled grouchily.  Well,  _that_ certainly didn't sound like his usual wake-up call.   Where was Har- 

_Oh yeah,_ he thought dismally, sighing as he nuzzled further into his cocoon of blankets.  Harry hadn't slept with Louis since the night of the eighth performance.  it had gone very well; the beautiful solos of Harry, Liam, and Zayn taking One Direction through to the semifinals, and Louis had fully expected the two of them to celebrate with a late night of movies, snuggling, and the cozy tangle of arms and legs as they fell asleep together, but Harry had steadily been avoiding him; finding excuses to be with others and to reject one of Louis's activity suggestions.

It was  _killing_ him.  What had he done?  Why was Harry suddenly so distant, so cold?  They hadn't even  _touched_ for over a week, and it was beginning to affect the two boys' performances musically.  Seeing as they were in the semi-finals and were once again performing two songs rather than one tomorrow night, this was anything but good.  

He didn't  _understand._ Harry had always been so close to him, so dependent upon Louis's affection and Louis's attention, but now, he seemed to be ignoring Louis altogether.  Harry didn't seem to realise that Louis needed him in return.

"Louis, you  _need_ to get up, you've slept in."  Louis groaned, thinking  _shit, shit, shit,_ and wondering just how much damage he'd done today before he even got out of bed.  Heart sinking slightly in his chest, he sat up as quickly as his sleepy body would allow him, and squinted through his tousled hair to see a very distressed Liam bouncing on his toes at his bedside.

"How late am I?" Louis groaned apprehensively, not sure if he wanted to know, and as Liam replied, he gently tugged Louis to his feet and helped him to get his night shirt off of his shoulders.

"It's quarter to nine," Liam exclaimed anxiously, jaw jittering and eyes wide as he suddenly pulled Louis's bare feet into a pair of boots. "And you need to be in the car in two minutes, or we'll be late to rehearsals  _again!_ Do you remember what Simon said would happen if we're tardy one more time?"  Louis's face drained of colour, and his eyes nearly popped in his head as recalled the words  _"Loss of privileges"_ and  _"Cruel and unusual punishment"_ and suddenly he was wide-awake.

"Simon's not even here," he whined, yet he still didn't hesitate to tug his jacket over his arms and tug his shirt down his chest.

"I don't care if he's out sick or not, you know he's still keeping tabs on the place like J. Edgar Hoover," Liam hissed dramatically, and Louis nodded, figuring he made a very fair point.

"Toss me my trousers?" he asked hurriedly, and he managed to work a pair of loose sweats over his booted feet, wondering vaguely why on earth Liam had put his shoes on  _first._

"C'mon!" Liam insisted, wrapping his fingers around Louis's wrist and tugging him quickly down the corridor.  

"But my hair-"

"It looks  _fine,_ Louis," Liam lied, rolling his eyes, and Louis huffed indignantly as he let Liam drag him out the back door and towards the growling SUV sitting in the carpark.  Louis swung himself into the car and found himself, for the first time in weeks, side-by-side with Harry.  He exhaled happily, thinking that maybe he'd been able to calm Harry down and convince him that he was being silly in avoiding him, but Harry's cheeks only turned red, and he turned pointedly from Louis to stare out of the window.  Louis's face fell, and he only grew grumpier as the SUV swerved into the street and his head was rammed against the seat in front of him.

"Haz, why didn't you wake me up?" he whined, still struggling to coax a response from his inanimate friend, and Harry bit his lip, cheeks draining of colour. 

"Uh...I was showering," he said lamely, but as Louis squinted, he realised that Harry's curls weren't wet as they should be, and his heart sank lower in his chest as it hit him that Harry was lying to him,  _again._

He was getting awfully sick of the dishonesty, especially from someone as important to him as Harry.  First the damned pill bottle, and now this...

He gaped openly at Harry, eyes wide and face blatantly offended, but Harry only ran his fingers nervously through his hair and quickly engaged in a ridiculously in-depth conversation with Zayn about shampoos.  

It wasn't  _fair._ How come other people got to talk to Harry?  How come other people received his attention?  That was all  _Louis's._ He was  _Louis's_ Harry.  Why, all of a sudden, was he suddenly not Harry's Louis anymore?

 

❡❡❡

 

Harry didn't fail to notice Louis's eyes on him throughout the morning, hurt and reproachful.  He hated to see that in Louis's eyes; hated to see that he was hurting his feelings, but he wasn't sure how else to deal with this, with his feelings and his actions...

"Harry, are you with us?"

"Wha- Yeah, sorry," Harry muttered as one of the vocal coaches, Lance, pulled his head from his thoughts for the third time that day.  

"Do you need a drink of water, or a lie down, or..." Lance asked, beginning to grow exasperated, and Harry shook his head, turning red with embarrassment.

"N-no, course not.  I'll be better now, I'm sorry."  Niall shot him a strange look, eyebrows raised, and Harry only blinked, turning his attention back to the sheet music before him.  

"Fine, just...Just let us know, please?" Lance begged him, and Harry scowled, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the dance floor.  "Take it from the top of number two!" Lance hollered, and the familiar track filled the room.

"I want you to love me," Liam began, brimming with confidence.  The lapse of nerve he'd been suffering earlier in the past couple of weeks had vanished with a small amount of private coaching, and his voice was strong and unhindered as he carried the verse.  The lads traversed through the song, running over upbeat bridges and wavering breakdowns, and by the time the song drew to a rocky end, Lance was smiling, nodding encouragingly in the directions of Zayn, Liam, and Niall.

"Well done, boys.  Zayn, your solo was beautiful, you really mastered that low note. Liam, you're going much better, great job, and Niall, you could hear your contribution, all right?  Brilliant, really brilliant."  Harry shifted, cheeks red and eyes on the floor as the coach congratulated the other three. "Take five, boys,"  he instructed, and they all started for the door.

"Harry and Lou?  A moment?" 

_Oh, shit._

"Erm, yeah, course," Harry mumbles, eyes never leaving the floor as he stopped and turned.  He vaguely felt Louis's scowl on the back of his head.

"Boys....I'm not going to shit around with you," Lance sighed, beckoning the two of them to the corner of the studio and crossing his arms over his chest.  "You  _sucked."_

"Thanks, love," Louis grumbled, and Lance shot him an unimpressed glance. 

"C'mon, Lou, you know what I'm talking about.  You're both unfocused, you're forgetting the lyrics, you've been dancing like you haven't walked in weeks..."

"Oh, well don't sugarcoat it, darling," Louis rolled his eyes, and Harry repressed the amused smile tugging at his lips.  Even Lance smiled before sending Louis a stern look.

"Boys, you've been absolute  _rubbish_ all week.  Just because your mentor's out sick doesn't mean you can slack off like this.  Cheryl's been working very hard to take time out of her own schedule to help you lads this week."

"We're not slacking off," Harry muttered, face hidden with humiliation, and he bit his lip guiltily.  God, he was screwing  _everything_ up, lately...

"Well, then tell me what the deal is, because we both know you can do much better than this.  Is something wrong?  Do you need to talk to me, or to Cheryl?" Lance asked, both concern and frustration lining his voice.

"Well, there is someone I need to clear things up with-" Louis began, his eyes burning into the back of Harry's head.

"No," Harry interrupted, cutting him off rather rudely, he must admit.  "No, there's...there's nothing."

"Well, whatever's bugging you, you better take care of it, because performances are  _tomorrow,"_ Lance snapped, casting annoyed looks towards the pair of them before striding from the room and into the corridor.  

"Harry, what the-"

"I gotta go," Harry said, voice breaking as he struggled to keep from looking to Lou.  "I...I need to use the loo..."

"Fine, me too," Louis growled, sounding fiercely determined, and Harry winced.

"I mean...I need to talk to Cheryl... _Alone,_ " he added, face melting with shame as he turned on the spot and left Louis standing in the middle of the room, clueless and abandoned, and shut the door quietly.

This was beginning to hurt a little too much.

 

 ❡❡❡ 

 

That night, the remaining contestants were scheduled to attend a movie premier, and on the red carpet as well.  Harry might have been excited, except it mean that the would not be permitted to leave Louis's side for a good three and a half hours.  

This was going to be difficult.

"I can't wait," Niall shrieked as he bounced upon the wide carseat, looking rather precious in his black tuxedo and spotted bowtie, and Liam tittered affectionately.  "There are gonna be ships, and lions, and magic, and fighting, and we're gonna be the first people to see it!  Do you know how many movie premiers I've been too?" he shrieked.

"How many?" Zayn asked, rolling his eyes towards Harry, who smiled.

"Zero. This is bloody revolutionary," Niall stated dramatically, his teeth jittering with excitement.

"Well, excuse me for looking forward to the endless celebrities and movie legends we're about to meet," Zayn said loftily, staring into the reflection of the car window as he carefully adjusted a strand of hair on his head.  Liam's face lit at this thought, and Harry's heart lifted slightly.  Maybe, with all the conversations and greetings the boys would be carrying, he'd be able to avoid being cornered by Louis.  He couldn't have him interrogating him... Couldn't have him telling Harry how he was feeling...

"All right, boys, out." the driver called from the front seat of the car, and the boys were herded onto the street by two very solemn-looking security guards.  

"Stay together, now," one of them said anxiously, cupping a hand round Harry’s shoulder and sending him toppling into Liam, who rolled his eyes towards the guard and offered Harry an exasperated smile.  

Harry had thought that, when arriving on the red carpet, he'd be drowned in adoring eyes and luxury, surrounded by respecting gazes and fans bowing at their feet.  But really, the event was nothing more than a thin strip of frayed carpet lined by weak ropes and plopped into the middle of hundreds of sweaty bodies, grabby hands, and loud voices sending very  _personal_ questions back and forth across the scene.

_"_ Cheryl!" One of the thrashing people hollered, a microphone clutched protectively to her chest and a recorder in the other hand.  "Cheryl, is it true that Simon's out sick due to a bout of acute Chlamydia?"

"Matt! Matt Cardle, what do you think your chances are of winning the competition?  Are there any contestants you don't think deserve to be here?"

"Zayn! We've heard rumors that you are sexually involved with Rebecca Ferguson, is that correct?"

"Bloody hell," Zayn muttered, eyes wide and cheeks red as his glance flickered to Rebecca, who was standing a few feet away, and each of the boys sent him strange looks. 

"Get a good glimpse of your future, lads," Cheryl laughed quietly in Niall's ear, and Niall could only gape, jaw dropping dramatically as he was pushed back and forth by the messy crowd.

"This way," one of the guards shouted over the din, and they began shoving the boys not-too-gently towards the large cinema glowing tall above the throng.  Harry sighed with relief as the contestants and guards stepped into the theatre and into a small area, roped off from the thrashing crowd.  He blinked, slightly dazed, and allowed himself to step back and appreciate the view of the cinema.  

What had to be over a hundred of screaming  _girls_ lay in wait behind the sturdy rope, some shouting for their attention at the top of their lungs and other weeping ridiculously, faces red and puckered.  Harry was hit by a solid wave of shock as he realised that it was  _them_ those girls were screaming for, it was One Direction.  This was just...

"Boys," Cheryl smiled, tapping the shoulders of Harry and Niall and nodding towards a lean figures standing in the corner of the area.  Harry's eyes widened.

"Is that Liam Neeson?" Zayn asked, eyebrows impossibly high upon his forehead, and Niall shook his head, blinking quickly.

"God, this is just..." Liam began, looking quite overwhelmed as his ran his fingers through his hair and tugged, teeth bared panickedly.  "Lads, this is  _happening,_ this is happening to us..."

"Blimey," Harry muttered, eyes wide and heart in his chest as he gazed around at the celebrities surrounding them, posing for photos.  Georgie Henley, Ben Barnes, bloody  _Queen Elizabeth..._

For a moment, he was able to forget about this, about this whole ordeal with Louis and about his struggle internally.  He just felt so small and so overwhelmed in the people and the lights and the crowd and the cameras...

"Come along, then," one of the guards said, herding the boys through the roped area and towards a collection of small tables littering the carpet, where only more familiar faces lay in wait; faces Harry had only ever seen in movie posters on the covers of his favourite albums.  His jaw positively dropped as he caught sight of one person in particular, one he'd idolized for ages...

"Boys, come here," Cheryl said eagerly.  "Boys, I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine." The other lads' faces had perked with curiosity; they hadn't quite noticed just whom Cheryl was talking about.  Harry on the other hand...Well, he was so excited that he couldn't quite feel his toes at the moment.

"Woah," Niall breathed, blue eyes round as dinner plates and jaw nearly dropping to the floor as he caught sight of Cheryl's friend.  "Is this..."

"Lads, meet Joe McElderry.  Joe, it's good to see you again," Cheryl beamed, offering the short, slight man a warm hug and a pat on the back.  "Joe," she continued.  "Meet Liam, Harry, Niall, Louis, and Zayn.  One Direction, in other words."

"Fantastic," Joe said, grinning broadly as he leaned forward to shake each of the boys' hands, and Harry's heart didn't stutter like a teenage girl's.  It really didn't.  

"P-pleased to meet you," he stuttered, tumbling over his words as he continued to gape towards the X Factor winner, who only winked before clapping Niall on the back, leaving the Irish boy in delighted hysterics.  

"Can't believe I'm meeting you!" Zayn chirped, eyes bright and mouth parted as he gawked towards Joe.

"Can't believe I'm meeting  _you_ lads," Joe smiled.  "Big fan, been watching every week. Your last performance?  Blew me away."

"No way," Louis gaped, giddy energy building gradually in his body as he shook Joe's hand eagerly.  

"Yes, way," Joe laughed.  "You'll do brilliantly in the competition, I swear it."

"Cool," Zayn grinned, his eyes wide and unblinking as he gaped, and Joe smiled, a little shyly.

"Looking forward to the movie?" Niall asked eagerly, hands curled into excited fists as he bounced on his toes, and Joe grinned.

"Oh of course, but you know this isn't just a movie premier, right?"  The other boys exchanged confused looks, shaking their heads.  "It's my coming-out-iversary!" Joe exclaimed, beaming as he slapped a triumphant high-five with Cheryl.  "I've been publicly gay for one year." The boys fell silent, each smiling but not quite sure what to say.

"Cool," Louis finally grinned, eyes bright and face in awe as he yanked Joe forward into a congratulatory hug.  "Really great, mate, honestly," Louis said, looking both proud and impressed of this man he barely knew, and Harry's heart didn't melt a little bit in his chest.  Not at all.

"Congratulations, Joe.  You lot, c'mon.  We've got loads of people to meet," Cheryl said eagerly, eyes gleaming as she looked through the crowd.

"Nice to meet you!" Liam called desperately as Cheryl grabbed his and Zayn's arms and dragged him off towards another friend of hers.  The other boys followed, nervous butterflies flooding Harry's stomach as he smiled tentatively around at the stars.   _Wow, wow, wow..._

The five boys followed Cheryl like lost puppies for half an hour, grinning giddily as she introduced them to names Harry had only ever seen in newsprint and in online gossip articles, leaving every lad completely dazed and unable to form any coherent sentences.

Other things were on Harry's mind, however, and instead of focusing on the elegantly dressed couple speaking with Cheryl and Liam, his eyes were flickering back and forth to the single table where Joe McElderry sat, alone and smiling as he observed the crowd.

Harry had an idea.  He just wasn't sure if it was a  _good_ idea.  He shouldn't...He really shouldn't...

But then Joe was catching his eye and smiling before extending a hand and beckoning Harry towards him.  Harry frowned, stupidly mouthing  _"Me?_ " for a moment before Joe chuckled and nodded, and Harry blinked foolishly, sliding from the group of boys and starting towards the singer.

"Hello," Harry said, his voice slightly higher with nerves, and he slid carefully into the chair across from Joe's. Now would not be an idea time to pull one of his clumsy falls and wind up on the floor at the feet of his idol. He pursed his lips timidly, hunching, and relaxed as Joe grinned. He had a nice, laid back aura about him, and for this, Harry was thankful. 

"How're doing, mate?" Joe asked, his higher, smoother voice reminding him a little of Louis's, and his eyes flickered momentarily towards the Doncaster boy, who was across the room and in the middle of an uncomfortable conversation with what appeared to be none other than Olly Murs.  Harry blinked, gaping slightly, before turning back to Joe, who was watching him with sharp eyes.  

"Noticed you looking a bit out of your element over there. Thought I'd invite you over for a chat." Joe said easily, and Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"We'll, it's certainly strange," he laughed nervously, and Joe nodded, glancing bewildered my around at the crowd.

"Definitely something to get used to," he pursed his lips. "Mind you, all this prying never gets old. I hope you kissed your private life goodbye, because you're never going to see it again."

Harry gulped; he knew Joe only meant this as a joke, but somehow, it held much more foreboding than it should have. Joe seemed to notice his anxiety, for he reached across the table to place his hand over Harry's clenched fist, squeezing once.

"You all right, mate?" He asked, looking suddenly concerned. 

"Yeah," Harry replied, mouth suddenly dry.

_If he was going to ask anyone for help, now would be the time... Just ask..._

"I... I actually had something to ask you," he croaked. His hand began to sweat beneath Joe’s, and the man's fingers tightened. "I.... You... Just..." Harry stuttered, finally pausing to inhale a deep, shudders breath. "H-how did you... You know... _Come out_?" 

The table was suddenly silent as embarrassment and apprehension flooded Harry's face and slow realization filled Joe's. His hand was still on Harry's for a very long moment before he finally replied, and when did, he said nothing that Harry had expected.

"Alright, who is it?" Joe asked suddenly, turning abruptly in his seat to gaze towards the other boys, who were still speaking with Olly.

"I...what..." Harry spluttered, eyes wide and cheeks quite pale.

"It's the Irish one, isn't it?" Joe asked, eyes sharp and lips smiling. "No...the one with the quiff and the- no, not him... Is it another contestant? Matt, maybe?" He turned curiously to Harry, an innocent gaze on his face.

Harry could only gape, mouth hanging open and eyes blinking slowly. How in the name of all that is sane had Joe managed to make so many inferences from a simple, five-worded question?  He was about to stutter a reply when Joe turned quickly back to the crowd, searching intently.

"Wait, let me guess," he said, a slow smile dawning his lips. "It's him, innit? The small one, with the nice eyes?" 

Harry was frozen. First of all, how the hell had Joe learned that not only was having homosexual feelings, but that he was also feeling them towards a contestant, and above all, towards Louis? Second of all, Harry was feeling a rather strong amount of possessiveness and jealousy, because how dare anyone but him say that Louis's eyes were nice? Those were  _his_ eyes,  _his_ blue... And yet, they shouldn't be...

"H-How did you..."

"He's been making eyes at you all night, sweetheart, it wasn't hard to tell." Joe smiled, winking.  "Besides, he's the only boy over there showing up on my Gaydar at the mo', so I figured it could-"

"No," Harry interrupted him, lips still parted and face blank.  "I mean...How did you know I was...that I..."

"That you were looking at another fellow?" Joe asked, his voice slowly becoming quietened and a bit more…well, delicate.  

"I..." Harry quaked, looking everywhere but Joe.   _Looking at another fellow..._

It sounded so blatant, so...final.  It was like, by admitting to this, to Joes's question, he would be, well... _confirming_ his feelings.  Did he really want that?...Did he really have a choice? 

"Yes," he finally whispered, eyes boring holes into the surface of the table, and Joe nodded thoughtfully, lips pursing.

"Well, most people don't ask about my coming out just for the hell of it.  I figured you had to have your reasons, and...Well frankly, darling, you look as frightened as a Chihuahua in an animal shelter." Joe smiled sympathetically, and Harry blushed, blinking.  "There's something else there, as well," Joe added conversationally.  "You seem very...defensive. I studied psychology, you know, before I auditioned, and I can read body language pretty well.  The way you hold yourself gives me the idea that you're a bit closed off, a bit submissive and that...well, that there was something you were hiding."

"You're not wrong," Harry whispered, his heart still jumping in his throat as he stared solidly at the table, biting his lip a little too tightly.  

"Tell me, love," Joe said gently, scooting chair around the table to lay a hand on Harry's shivering shoulder.  "Does anyone else know?"

"I...I'm not even sure if  _I_ know yet," Harry said, shaky laughter falling from his lips as he finally glanced up to meet Joe's gaze.  "I've just been laying out...Well, the facts, I suppose.  All I know is that I'm in love with him."

"Have you ever been in love with a bloke before?" Joe asked curiously, and Harry immediately shook his head.  

"No, never.  I've never felt  _anything_ like this...This is just..." And he trailed off, chest tightening as he glanced towards Louis, and his face lit slightly as he realised that the blue-eyed boy was staring back.  Joe nodded, looking slightly alarmed as he cast a thick glance between the two boys.  "I..." Harry continued, closing his eyes for a long moment and inhaling.  "I've always liked girls and their long hair and their sweet smell and their pretty clothes, and it's...it's always been  _girls,_ but with Lou..."

"I understand," Joe said quietly, a small smile on his lips.  Harry glanced up, hopeful.  "I was in the same place about a year and a half ago, love.  I was trying to love people that I couldn't, and for some stupid reason, I thought it was up to me."  Joe paused, a frown creasing his forehead for a moment as he considered.  "Tell me, Harry," he said quietly.  "Do you think you could be bisexual?  Or do you think you may only have genuine feelings for men?"

It felt good, somehow, to hear the possibility spoken and on the table, to think,  _Hey, maybe this isn't so crazy._ It felt as if Harry was  _getting_ somewhere with his thoughts.

"I don't know," he said slowly.  "I've always noticed the girls in the hallway at school, and when I auditioned for the show, it was the  _girls_ I was looking at, but..." He lowered his voice, a sudden wave of embarrassment and shame crushing his shoulders.  "I'm a virgin," he whispered tentatively.  "I've never had sex, and I'm not sure if I...Well, which gender I'm attracted to in...Well, you know,  _that_ way."  To his relief, Joe only dismissed the confession with a wave of his hand.

"You're sixteen years old, there's no hurry, love.  In any case, my sexual attraction towards blokes wasn't what convinced me of my sexuality itself." he shrugged, and Harry leaned forward, interested. 

"No?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing, and Joe shook his head.  

"Course not.  Hell, I didn't lose my virginity until I was seventeen and had been with my boyfriend for a number of months.  It was never about the physical gratification for me." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and patting Harry's back comfortingly.  "What gave me ideas about liking the same gender were the thoughts I was thinking.  Listen to me when I say that the only difference between a  _gay_ crush and a  _straight_ crush is that in the case of a  _gay_ crush, the person simply likes a member of the same gender."

"What are you saying?" Harry asked, not quite catching his drift.

"I'm saying that you've got all the components of a relationship, just between two different people.  You've still got the red cheeks, the butterflies, the sparks, the self-consciousness, the excitement to see the other person... Gay couples flirt and text and get nervous just like straight couples do.  They still worry about how they look, whether or not the other person will like what they're wearing, or how they've done their hair..." 

Harry could only nod.  The situation was all too familiar.

"A year and a half ago, when I was convinced to some degree that I was straight, I met a man who changed my life.  I began to have those feelings; those butterflies, those nerves...I would look forward to spending time with him, and I would think about just how handsome he was. I tried very hard for a very long time brush this off as a stupid, special kin of friendship, or summat," Joe rolled his eyes, looking quite unimpressed with himself, and Harry turned red. "And then, one day, we were sitting in his room, and watching a movie on his bed.  I turned to ask him a question, and our faces were very close, and I imagined how lovely it would be to kiss him. So I did." 

"What?" Harry exclaimed, smiling now.  "Just like that?  But what if he was straight?  What if he rejected you, or..."

"That's what I was thinking," Joe grinned, his eyes suddenly looking very misty.  "And as I leaned in, every single horrible possibility ran through my head, but when we did kiss, it was perfect and it was soft, and it was nothing like any kiss I've ever shared with a girl."

"So that was it?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose.  "You were convinced by a  _kiss?_

Sounds a little cliché..." 

"Ah, you haven't let me finish yet," Joe smiled, waggling his finger.  "It wasn't the kiss that convinced me I was gay.  It was what he said when he leaned back."

"What did he say?" Harry asked breathlessly, eyes wide.

"He said," Joe said, unable to push away the soft smile on his mouth now.  " _I'm very scared, Joe, but I'd quite like to hold you here forever._ "  And then Harry was smiling too, because he didn't think he'd ever heard anything so sweet in his life.  "And then," Joe sighed, a suffocating amount of adoration in his face.  "And then I knew that this was no ordinary friendship, because I was thinking about forever, and I was thinking about how nice it would be to call him mine and to kiss him every day, and to hear him say that he loved me."

Joe looked back to Harry as he left his thoughts hanging in the air, and his cheeks tinged slightly.  

"When you love someone like that, there's really no question," he shrugged, and Harry bit his lip, smiling, because he  _did_ love someone like that.  He really did.  He just wasn't sure he loved him in return.

"I don't like to use the terms 'Gay' and 'Straight'" Joe continued thoughtfully, leaning lazily back in his chair and eying Harry.  "I think that love is love, and you just love who you love, regardless of which gender that love belongs to.  In fact, there are only three men in the entire world that I've ever felt attraction towards.  But that most definitely beats my tally of women," Joe smiled, and Harry chuckled.  "But we live in a society that likes to label," Joe shrugged.  "And I'd much rather be labeled as a person who loves men than be expected to objectify women.  I'd rather do anything than be expected to objectify women, but very unfortunately, women are seen in this society as objects of sexual gratification, even if you and I know that's the opposite of true. And, also unfortunately, we as men are expected to choose between objectifying women and ruthlessly screwing other men.  It's not fair, and it's not right, but it's the world we live in and we all need to learn to adapt without changing who we are."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, letting his mind run free for the first time in weeks as he considered what Joe was saying.

"Is there...Is there someone doing that, Harry?" Joe asked gently.  "Is there someone encouraging you to change?  Something in particular that's scaring you away from your feelings towards Louis?"  Harry was silent, and thoughts of his mother and stepfather buzzed through his head.  He didn't reply, but he didn't seem to need to, for Joe spoke again. "There's someone important, isn't there?  Your parents, or a sibling...Someone convincing you that you'd be loving the wrong person?"

Harry could only bite his lip, and to his great humiliation, hot tears had begun to well behind his lids.

"I just..." he managed, voice breaking as he stared firmly towards the table, and Joe patted his back gently.  "He's...He's a good person, but...He wouldn't be happy if he knew about...these feelings, and..." Harry sighed, letting stray tears bead his eyelashes as he looked up and struggled to maintain his composure.  "I don't want to disappoint him.  I love him and I respect him, and if he stops loving me too, then I...I don't..."

"Hey, it's okay, Harry," Joe said quietly, running his hand over Harry's back.  "It's okay.  I know how you're feeling, all right?  I know exactly what you're going through."

"Y-you do?" Harry whispered, lip quivering as he gazed desperately towards Joe, who nodded, lips pursed sadly.

"When I came out to my dad, it was great.  He wasn't crazy about the idea, but he'd always loved me, and he knew that being gay wasn't something that occurred in the middle of someone's lifetime.  He understood that I wasn't any different from the perfect straight son he'd been so proud of, and he's been...he's been very supportive.  I'm very lucky."

"And your mum?" Harry asked, breath bated.  Joe's face hardened, his eyes melting slightly.

"My mum, uh..." he began, and he suddenly seemed very reluctant to look anywhere but towards the floor.  "My mum wasn't so...open-minded, I guess."  Harry let him have his moment as he lay his head in his heads, breathing and thinking, and he finally glanced up to finish his answer.  "She told me she was disappointed.  Wondered where she went wrong.  She told me she didn't want to see me until I was...  _fixed._

Gave me all these fucking pamphlets about 'homosexual treatments' and all that rubbish.  I was pretty pissed off at the time; told her I wasn't going to fix myself, because there was nothing broken." 

He looked up at Harry, suddenly looking quite desperate and quite urgent.

"You know that, right?" he asked quickly.  "You know there's nothing wrong with having feelings for another boy, right?  Because we don't chose who we love...We don't," he shook his head, looking distressed, and Harry nodded hurriedly.

"I know," he said quietly.  "I know, I just...I need my parents to know that.  So...So what happened with your mum?"

"Uh..." Joe continued.  "I, uh, I grabbed all my stuff and moved in with my dad.  My parents are divorced, so it was pretty easy, but still hard.  I had been switching houses every weekend, but suddenly I didn't need a calendar anymore.  I didn't need to worry about packing a suitcase to mum's every Friday, because she...She didn't want me there.  And I really didn't want to be there; not until she accepted me, anyways."

"And has she?" Harry asked.  She  _had_ to have done so, right?  She had to have accepted her only son for who he was...

"No," Joe said, laughing humorlessly.  "No, absolutely not.  She gives the gossip magazines interviews about how my faith will save me; that there's still hope for me.  She still sends me treatment pamphlets in the mail, and she still forwards me messages from religious psychologists she asks about what she calls my ' _condition.'"_ He shook his head, scoffing slightly.  "But she's still my mother.  She'll see sense someday, and when she does, I'll forgive her with open arms."

Harry blinked, slightly alarmed.  How could Joe ever truly forgive his mother for kicking him out like that, for treating her son as if he were diseased, as if he were mental just for being himself?

"It's not something you'll understand until you've lived with it," Joe smiled, assessing Harry's confused face.  "But you've got to remember that they're just abiding by what they think is right.  In their minds, they're trying to  _help_ us, they just... They just don't see that we don't need it."  Harry nodded.  That made sense.  

"Don't try to talk yourself out of being  _you,_ darling," Joe smiled sadly.  "You seem like a very selfless person, but sometimes, you need to stop thinking about how others are feeling and you just need to take time for  _you._ Do you think you would be happy with Louis?"

"Of course," Harry said, no hesitation in his voice, and Joe grinned, eyes twinkling. 

"Then what are you waiting for?"

 

❡❡❡

 

 Harry hadn't forgotten what Joe had told him, and he knew he should have all the encouragement he needed, at the very least, to come out as bisexual, if not gay.  But he found himself searching for excuses on a daily basis; searching for reasons and contradictions to every thought passing through his head.

_It was too risky,_ he'd tell himself, thinking of the others.  He couldn't risk the band's image; he couldn't risk his friendship with Louis...

_Besides, Joe was right, labels are stupid,_ he'd rant, thinking that he didn't need to be labeled in life.  And yet, he'd been labeled since the day he was born.  He'd been labeled as odd, as charming, as sweet, as polite, as talented, as  _straight..._

Well, Joe was definitely right about  _one_ thing.  Harry needed to stop pushing himself away.  He needed to, at the very least, stop fighting who he really was.

He just didn't know  _how._

_Pink pills, pink pills..._

Pink pills seemed to be the answer at the moment; the method of escaping these imprisoning thoughts and these scary ultimatums, and when the pink pill flooded his system every morning, the guilt and the nerves and the anxiety all seemed to go away...at least, for awhile.

At least, until the next morning; until he woke up cold and bare and defenseless, so very  _alone..._

He squeezed his eyes shut tight against his pillow as he woke early on the morning of the semi-finals, not quite wanting to go through the motions of the day.   _No,_ he moaned silently.  He just wanted to go back to sleep, to escape the scary thoughts and the images of Louis's hurt face...

But life wasn't so easy.

He didn't bother to look at his watch as he pushed himself off of the mattress and curled into a shivering ball of bare limbs against the blankets, surveying the room from his bunk.  Across the room, Liam's arms flopped and tossed in bed, and Niall's babble filled the quiet air.  Beside the window, the rustle of blankets upon the single mattress let him know that Zayn was fast asleep.  When he caught sight of the light filtering through the window, he realised that it must be nearing eight; that the alarm on the dresser would be ringing any minute.  

_Speaking of alarms..._ Harry glanced towards the black wristwatch on his arm, and when he saw the numbers flashing  _07:58,_

he sighed, realising he wouldn't be able to satiate himself with the pink pill for more than half and hour.

_Just forty more minutes, you'll be fine,_ he thought, taking a deep, shuddering breath.   _What's the worst that can happen in thirty minutes?_

He jumped as the clock on the dresser began to ring, its obnoxious tone filling the room like a fire alarm, and Liam sprang upright in bed, eyes wide and limbs splayed.  Beneath him, Niall groaned and rolled over in bed, bleary eyes opening.  Zayn muttered a slur of nasty curses under his breath and growled slightly to himself as he reached blindly for the blaring clock.  

Harry tensed on his bunk, wondering if he should hurry off to the bathroom, or if Louis was about to wake and if he should wait to rise.  He sighed.  He really was thinking too far into this.

"Morning, lads," Liam yawned, smiling sleepily and stretching before wriggling down the bunk ladder and sliding into a pair of house slippers.  "C'mon, up you get, lazy bones," he added, patted Niall's head affectionately and tossing a clean shirt towards Zayn.  "Performance night, remember?"

Zayn groaned loudly, expressing Harry's current feelings reasonably accurately, and he sent Liam a dark look before tugging the curtains across the bright window and beginning to get dressed.  

Niall finally rose, smiling with half-shut eyes and humming a lazy Irish tune as he slid his shampoo and towel under one arm, heading for the door.  

"I'm off to breakfast!" Liam exclaimed, a bit too cheerfully for this time of day, and Harry exchanged tired looks with Zayn.  "Get up, now, or I'll make sure Zoe doesn't leave you any apple juice," he added to Harry, who smiled and poked his tongue childishly out at Liam.  

 "Guess he's right, we better get up," Zayn grumbled, standing and tugging a pair of thick sweats over his bare legs before heading out the door after Liam. 

Harry froze, realising that only he and Louis remained in the room, and no  _way_ had Louis slept through that ruckus.   _What would...What was going to..._

Neither lad spoke as Louis wriggled into a pair of slippers shaped like Moose and rose to his feet, looking tired and somber as he started for the door, and Harry sighed in relief, thinking that he would finally be alone.

Then Louis shut the door.  But there was problem- the two boys were still  _inside._

_Oh, no, no, no..._

"Haz," Louis said, his voice surprisingly gentle as he turned to look up at Harry.  

_No,_ Harry wanted to beg him.   _Please, don't say anything..._

"Haz, we need to talk.  I don't know why you're ignoring me, or...or why I've...But..." Louis bit his lip, chest suddenly heaving as his face clouded with panic, and suddenly, Harry only wanted to banish the anxiety from Lou's face, because no one so wonderful should ever have to feel so terrible...

"Please," Louis said quietly.  "Please, just, come down here."  

Harry didn't know what else to do.  He'd always do as Louis asked.  His throat tightened and his eyes widened as he reluctantly slid from his mattress and down the wooden ladder, feeling quite ominous as he let his feet land on the floor with a soft thump.  

_Oh, no, what was going to happen now..._

"Haz," Louis asked tentatively.  "I...I miss you," he confessed, and Harry's heart  _definitely_ didn't melt in his chest.  Definitely not.  "I miss you, and I...I just need to know what I've done, because I can't think of what I've done wrong, and I just need you back, and..."

"I..." Harry croaked, his throat quite dry and his palms quite hot.  He didn't know what to say.  He didn't know what to tell him.  He just needed to make him feel better... "Y-you haven't done anything, I promise," He croaked.  When Louis looked up, he looked shocked, skeptical.

"What?" Louis asked, looking slightly alarmed.  "I...You haven't spoken to me in days, and for no reason?  You're just telling me that there was nothing done?  What the hell, Haz?" he said incredulously, beginning to grow frustrated, and Harry kicked himself mentally for replying with such a stupid statement.

"I...It's...complicated," Harry said, voice breaking.  "I...I dunno."

"You don't  _know."_ Louis repeated, eyebrows raised and tone challenging, and suddenly Harry was growing very weary.  "You act like I'm invisible, completely ignore me, and all you have to say to me is, ' _I don't know?'_ " 

Harry wasn't sure how to reply to that.  He  _did_ know. Of course he knew why he was avoiding Louis, but...But Louis couldn't know.  He really  _couldn't._ No one could.

"Just forget it, Lou," Harry frowned, his voice uncharacteristically sharp, and Louis flinched as if he'd been slapped.

"No," He growled in reply.  "No, I will not just forget it, Harry, because I'm not going to let you throw away our relationship just because you're on some stupid mood swing, or something, okay?  You're being ridiculous," Louis snapped, his sassier and angrier side growing more and more prominent.  

"Lou," Harry seethed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.  "You don't know what you're  _talking_ about, okay, so just move and let me shower, and-"

"Excuse me?" Louis said, eyebrows shooting across his forehead.  "Harry, what the hell are you  _doing?_ Look, I'm sorry if I've done something to piss you off, I really am, but if you're going to act like a five-year-old about it and not even tell me what you're angry about, then-"

"No, Louis, listen to me-"

"No, Harry,  _you_ listen!" Louis shouted, his face growing increasingly agitated as he jabbed an accusing finger in Harry's direction.  "You've been acting oddly for weeks now!  You barely even look at me, you're always avoiding me, and the only time you ever want  _anything_ to do with me anymore is when you need someone other than mummy to tell you every little thing is going to be all right, just because you're too cowardly to listen to anything else!"  

"Lou," Harry said weakly, his eyes glazing over with tears as he listened to the things he was hearing.  "Louis, stop..." He and Louis  _never_ fought, never; not even to banter over football teams or argue over films. They simply  _clicked_ in ways that always had them on each other's side, always happy, never disagreeing. Ever since Harry's feelings for Lou had cropped up, nothing was going right, and he hated it.  

He wished things could go back to the way they were, to when he was certain what he and Louis had was nothing more than an astounding friendship. But he knew he was lying to himself. If he were being completely honest, what he wanted more than anything was for Louis to simply return the feelings he felt.  Yet, he knew as he looked into those furious, overwhelmingly beautiful eyes, now a deep, angry shade of green, that the concept was beyond the realm of possibility.  

Louis was far too perfect to ever love someone as flawed as Harry, and Harry knew it.  It crushed him.  It hurt him, almost as much as the words Louis was flinging at him now.  

"Don't, Harry, just don't try to defend yourself here.  I  _need_ you, and you know that!  So why are you leaving me in the dark?" Louis whimpered, his face crumpling, and Harry's lower lip trembled. 

_Because I love you, Louis,_ He was wishing to say.   _Because I love you so much, it hurts to be around you, knowing that you'll never, ever love me..._

"I...I dunno..." Harry lied, his voice cracking.  

"Whatever," Louis muttered.  "I'm sick of the lies, Harry.  What happened to you and me?  We were...We were everything.  _You_ were everything.  Why have you changed that?"  

"I..." Harry choked, sobs rising slowly in his chest, threatening to push through his lips.  "I..."  

"You know what?  Don't even bother," Louis shook his head, anguish filling every syllable.  "I trusted you with everything, Harry, and you won't even trust me with the story behind your damn wrist watch alarm.  I thought we were more than that, to be honest."  

"We are!  Louis..." Harry began to say, but he was interrupted as, of  _course_ , his watch began beeping wildly on his wrist.  

_Wonderful timing,_ he thought sardonically, clenching his teeth as he realised that it was time, once more, to let the small, pink pill slide down his throat. He bit his lip, his throat clenching painfully, and instinctively reached for the pills in his pocket out of simple habit.  

He stopped himself, his breath hitching slightly in his chest, but not before Louis had caught his mistake.  Lou's green eyes focused on his hand, hovering lightly over his trousers, and his eyebrows furrowed with suspicion.  

"That's it, isn't it?" he asked, nodding towards the bulky shape protruding from his pocket that Harry had reached for.  "That's what's been coming between us." 

_Oh, Louis, if only you knew,_ Harry thought.  It was true that the reason behind his wristwatch had been driving a wedge in their relationship, but that was only a small portion of what was dividing them.  The fact that Harry was head over heels in love with Louis happened to play a bit of a larger role in the situation.  

"Take it out, Harry." Louis said quietly, his eyes meeting Harry's, instantly sending his heart pumping over the edge.  

"What?" Harry breathed, his face flooding with panic.  

_No,_ he thought.  He couldn't let Louis know; not  _this._ What would he think of him?  He already thought so lowly of Harry, if what he had just said was true.  He couldn't have Louis hating him more than he already did; he didn't think he would be able to handle it.  

"I said, take it out.  Please." Louis asked quietly, no threat in his voice; nothing but pleading.  

"Lou, I can't..." Harry gasped, his heart racing in his chest, pounding in his ears.  "I cant, I can't... Don't make me..." 

Louis's face contorted with pain as he realised that for the first time, Harry did not trust him.  Swallowing tightly, lip trembling, he walked slowly forward until he and Harry were mere inches apart.  The heat radiating from Lou's body and the warmth cascading from his breath sent Harry's mind buzzing, his breaths growing shakier and shakier with every movement.  

Louis's soft, strong hand slowly dipped into the pocket of his trousers, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the worst.  Louis's fingers wrapped around the small bottle, sending a small rattle sounding through the room as his hand shook, and he tugged the bottle from Harry's pocket, holding it to his face to read the label. Harry let his eyes flutter open, and as Louis gazed at the bottle, his lips parted in shock, his eyes widening in mingled horror and disbelief. 

_Here it comes,_ Harry thought with horror.   _Guess this is it, Lou._

Louis's eyes slowly roamed from the words printed across the bottle to meet Harry's mortified, pathetic gaze, and he blinked, his face full of shock.  

"Harry," he whispered, his sweet voice shaking and sending his honey-scented breath whispering across Harry's face, and Harry couldn't help but inhale the soft, comforting smell of Lou as he shook with repressed sobs.  

"Why," Louis continued, his voice wrought with horror and daunting.  "Didn't you  _tell_ me you were on antidepressants?"  

And with that, Harry broke. His face crumpled, and his eyes brimmed with the hot salty tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.  A weak, pathetic sob escaped his lips, and he gazed helplessly into Louis's eyes, praying for his forgiveness, apologizing for all his mistrust.  

"Oh, Haz," Louis whispered tenderly, his voice full of depth, and Harry sniffled with the cries he was struggling to force back.  Louis, his eyes morphing gently from green to hazel, slid the bottle of pink pills back into Harry's pocket and raised his empty hands, cupping them gently around Harry's face.  "Why have I never realised just how much you were hurting?" Louis whispered, his sweet, honey-scented breath falling gently across Harry's face, breath that caused Harry's heart to jam in his chest and his wrists to throb as his pulse beat wildly through his veins.  He froze, his eyes widening with alarm as his heart rocketed ever faster.  

Louis had never held him like this.... 

His soft, smooth thumb glided gently over Harry's jaw, caressing his cheek, and as those dark, pink lips parted, mingled euphoria and terror rose in Harry's stomach, and he realised what Louis was about to do.  

Louis's eyes slid shut as his face angled itself towards Harry's, and with a soft, warm waft of breath, his lips descended on Harry's.  

How long had he waited to feel the smooth, soft, plump skin of Louis's mouth on his?  How often had he looked at that beautiful, wonderful boy and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by those perfect lips?  

No matter how many times Harry had pictured the scene, no matter how beautiful he had perceived it to be, it was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to how it felt in reality.  

The feeling of Louis's gentle, hot mouth pressed softly to his was so indescribably real, so incredibly perfect.  Harry simply stood there, frozen with disbelief, unwilling to imagine for a moment that Louis was kissing him, Harry Styles.  

Louis's thumb pressed carefully to Harry's cheek, running soothingly over his skin, assuring Harry that there was nothing to be afraid of, and Harry ever-so-stupidly believed him.  

Before he was aware of what he was doing, his own hands had raised into the air, hovering over Louis's stubbly face and neck before slowly dawning on his smooth, tawny skin, always so warm... 

Louis shuddered slightly beneath Harry's touch, and Harry inhaled sharply through his nose as the balmy, velvety tip of Lou's tongue rolled slowly, lightly across his lower lip, gentle and genuine, and Harry instinctively let his lips lull apart, allowing Louis to shape his own mouth tenderly around his, heating it, warming it, completing it. 

Harry's hands lay limply across Louis's neck and shoulders, unsure, unaware, and Louis's fingertips increased in pressure on Harry's jaw as he carefully tipped his chin towards his.  It was so, so unexpectedly different from kissing a girl; his lips were thinner, more certain, and Harry felt the soft, sharp brush of new stubble on his chin as Louis's skin bumped his.  He tasted masculine, he tasted dark and sweet and rough, and  _Yeah,_ Harry thought, heart sinking into his stomach as it beat wildly,  _This is something different._

Louis's lips puckered slightly, caressing Harry's so slowly and with so much careful deliberation that Harry blushed beneath his touch, his cheeks pressing lightly against Louis's, heating them.  Lou's nose brushed gently against his, sending an endless series of shivers coursing through his spine, and Louis, sensing this, let his warm, soft lips, plump and gentle as a cloud, move tightly around Harry's for a long, sweet moment before his mouth gently detached from Harry's, leaving a cold, empty sensation on Harry's lips.  

His green eyes opened slowly, to see Louis's gaze locked intently on his, his eyes now a bright, undeniable blue as deep as the sea.  

Harry blinked.  He could not believe he had just kissed Louis.   _He could not believe it._

He had felt every groove in his supple lips, tasted the vague flavour of Louis, mingled with tea leaves and sugar, and he had never,  _ever_ felt so close to him before, had never felt so close to  _anyone..._

"Erm..." he coughed, his breath falling shakily across Louis's lips, and Louis, his face lined with anxiety and disbelief at what he had just done, pursed his lips, his eyes darting from Harry's eyes to his mouth.  

"H-Harry," he began, his voice shaking.  "I..." 

He was interrupted by a loud, sudden bang, and Harry, startled, jumped, lurching slightly against Louis, who grabbed his wrists in his soft, strong fingers, supporting him, never letting him fall.  Harry tore his gaze from Lou's, turning to see Niall blunder through the door, a silly grin on his face.  

"Hey, lads, guess what I--Oh," he cut himself off, his voice dropping dramatically as he caught sight of the pair of them, Harry leaning against Lou's chest, both with flushed cheeks and lips the colour of wine.  

Louis glanced from Harry to Niall, his voice seeming to catch in his throat, and, before Harry could so much as blink, his warm hands had left Harry's wrists, and with a soft breeze, Louis had whipped himself out of the room, his sweater trailing in the air at his sides, his jaw clenched and his eyes glazed.  

Harry watched him go, eyes wide, feeling as if he had taken a piece of Harry with him.  

 

❡❡❡

 

Louis hated himself.  What had he been thinking, striding up to Harry and locking lips like that?  They were supposed to be best friends, right?  

Ah, but there was the key word,  _“Suppose.”_ Louis knew whatever he and Harry had was far from friendship…or rather, what he and Harry had  _lost._ Surely, he had just thrown away whatever relationship they shared.  

It was unbelievable how a person had to ability to wreck something that had been growing stronger and stronger for months in the space of sixty seconds.  

He had just been so taken aback that Harry had kept the secret of his depression from him.  He was furious with himself for not seeing it.  Of course Harry was depressed; he was a fragile, broken boy, and Louis thought maybe, just maybe he had been building him up again, up until, well, sixty seconds ago.  

He hadn't realised just how much Harry was hurting.  He had simply wanted to let Harry know that he cared about him, and that he would always be there, and somehow, he hadn’t felt that a simple hug would do the job.  Of  _course a_  hug wouldn't have done the job; could one needle mend a cancer patient?  Could one nail put a house back together?

He hadn't known how to deal with it; with someone so important to him hurting so badly.  He had just  _needed_ to help him,  _needed_ to keep him safe and warm, and he had done the first thing that had popped into his head.  He had gone right ahead like a blundering idiot and snogged his best mate.  

Tears stung in his eyes and his teeth bit gently into his lower lip as he strode briskly down the hallway of the X House, his wide eyes flitting anxiously from left to right, his breath coming from his lips in ragged, uneven gasps as he searched for somewhere,  _anywhere_ in which to barricade himself.  He rubbed his lips together; the sweet, broken taste of Harry still softer than silk on his tongue.  

As desperation overwhelmed him, he lunged for the nearest bathroom and slammed the door behind him, locking it with trembling fingers, and collapsed in a heap on the tile, his spine resting uncomfortably against the wood of the door.  

He gathered his legs to his chest, propping his elbows on his knees and clenching his teeth as he ran his hands roughly and slowly through his hair, his entire frame shaking.  

_I just kissed Harry,_ he thought, his mind buzzing.   _I just kissed Harry, I just kissed Harry._

He had done it.  He had gone and crossed the impenetrable barrier; the boundary that he resolved  _never_ to approach. His teeth chattered with astonishment as he struggled to recover from the shock, his heart racing heavily in his chest, threatening to pummel out of ribcage, and his pulse thudded loudly in his ears, blocking every other noise out and leaving him trapped in his head with his strange thoughts.  

He was absolutely horrified with himself for doing such a stupid, blitheringly idiotic thing.  What had he been thinking, comforting his broken, depression-racked best friend with a kiss?  They always cuddled and messed around, yes, but the way Louis had kissed Harry was beyond playful or silly; it was intense, it was loving, and it was  _all_ too real.  

As he heard the sound of Niall’s voice shouting his name distantly through the house, he curled himself into only a tighter position, hoping that if he tried hard enough, he might just disappear.  He never wanted to face the consequences of his actions, he never wanted to face anyone who knew just what he had done… 

The question was, could he face Harry?  He needed Harry.  He needed his comfort, needed his company, needed his advice, needed his laughter.  

He  _needed_ the way those green eyes shone whenever Louis told a joke.  

He  _needed_ the sound of his low, slow mumble when he spoke to him.  

He  _needed_ the way those pink, rosy lips curled around those gleaming white teeth when he grinned.  

He  _needed_ to see those lush, chocolate-coloured curls that bobbed around his ears and brushed Louis's cheek whenever they hugged.  

He  _needed_ to see those deep, charming dimples that somehow only grew more prominent whenever he was around Louis.  

He needed Harry.  

He  _needed_ him, he  _needed_ him, he  _needed_ him...

He was terrified that he had just lost him.  

_I just kissed Harry Styles,_ he thought with a silent sob, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes and clenching his jaw, feeling as he were about to erupt at any moment.  

It wasn’t that the kiss had repulsed him.  He wasn’t even unnerved by the action of pressing his lips to Harry’s.  He had not been afraid of the kiss, or repelled by it.  

No, what scared Louis more than anything was the idea that maybe, just maybe, he had  _liked_ it. 

 

 

❡❡❡

 

 

“He kissed you?” Niall exclaimed, his blue eyes widening dramatically as he gaped at Harry. 

“Please, be quiet,” Harry begged him in a whisper, his voice still hoarse with mingled shock and misery as a result from both Louis’s actions and his sudden disappearance afterwards.  

“And he just stormed out,” Niall mumbled, his lips parted in disbelief.  Harry nodded, his heart still thrumming wildly in his chest at what he could only assume was an unhealthy pace.  

That was the worst bit, he was sure.  How many times had he dreamt of kissing Louis?  How had imagined it to occur?  Well, he was sure of one thing; no matter how many scenarios he pictured in his head, kissing and running had not been one of them.  

What did it mean?  Had Louis been disgusted?  Surprised?  Overwhelmed?  Afraid?  Apalled?  

_Well, he kissed me,_ Harry thought indignantly.  He couldn't possibly justify his feelings when he was the one to initiate the snog.  

He bit his lip anxiously to discover that it was still warm, damp and tender, and he blinked gently at the thought that, moments ago, Louis’s perfect, rosy, soft lips had been on his.  It was unbelievable...It was unrealistic.  It had been absolutely  _perfect,_ and that was more terrible than anything.

By now, Louis had surely realised that Harry was a weak, repellent coward.  He had discovered his secret, his pink pills, his incompetence.  He had finally deduced that Harry was unstable, dependent failure, and he was sure that whatever relationship they had had was now over.  No one, especially not someone as wonderful as Louis, would ever want to stick around someone like Harry. 

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Niall said gently, and Harry repressed a groan as he realised he was thinking out loud once more.  Now would be a brilliant time for his mind to shut up.  “Why are you telling me to shut up?” Niall asked blankly, and Harry sighed in explanation.  “It’s okay,” Niall murmured carefully as he uncertainly opened his arms, and Harry hesitated before leaning slowly against his chest.  

Niall’s hugs were always nice and friendly.  They reminded Harry that he had a lad to stand behind him, to support him—that he had at least  _one_ relationship that was not more confusing than biochemistry.  

Unfortunately, they were not, nor would they ever be the arms he was craving.  He wondered with a pang if he would ever feel those wonderful, smooth, brawny arms curl protectively around his waist ever again.  

“I swear, Harry, it’ll be all right,” he whispered, and Harry sighed pathetically, hot, embarrassing tears ballooning before his eyes, pattering slowly and silently down his cheeks.  

All this crying was beginning to grow seriously embarrassing, but Harry had always been one for tears, and somehow, he felt that this certain situation merited a good sob.  He buried his face in Niall’s shoulder, letting the soft fabric of his one-piece absorb the salty drops blossoming across the fleece.  

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Niall asked quietly, and Harry nodded childishly against Niall’s shoulder.  The Irish lad let him sniffle quietly for a moment before he patted his back carefully and cupped his hands around his arms, gently detaching him from his chest.  

“Why don’t you have Liam make you a cup of tea, okay?” Niall asked, and Harry nodded, pressing his fingertips ashamedly into his tear ducts, taking a long, rattly breath.  Niall gave him a comforting smile before he left the room and started down the hall to find Louis.  

Harry waited until his clumsy footsteps had echoed into silence, and his jaw trembled slightly as another wave of tears burned behind his eyes.  

He was pathetic.  He was weak, he was a coward, and by now, Louis would know of his feelings, right?  Everything was over for Harry. This wasn’t anything a small pink pill could cure.  

He walked slowly and stiffly to his bunk, clambering clumsily up the ladder, and sighed as he draped himself across his bed, closing his moist eyes as his hand groped about the mangle of sheets for his dotted blanket, the object that Louis had given to him for Lord Mayor’s, the object that had kept Harry warm and cozy for nights on end... 

But where was it?  He frowned, his agitation growing ever further as his pooled eyes fluttered open and he gazed around his bed for a sign of the blanket.  When he saw none, he sighed, mumbling with frustration, and he slid gently back down the ladder, his eyes roaming around the room.  

As he turned to glance at the pile of clothing sitting beside the bunk, something soft and pink caught his eye, and his head whipped round to see a corner of amaranth fabric peek fabric peeking out at him from beneath the mound of Louis’s bed sheets. 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion, and he sniffled, wiping the back of his hand roughly across his tearstained face as he walked slowly towards the bed.   He sunk onto Louis’s mattress, gently tugging the square of fleece from under the sheets, his skin rubbing against the soft material, and he laid it in his lap.  

Why did Louis have Harry’s blanket?  It was a bit difficult to mistake the colours.  Maybe he was missing his own blanket.  As Harry’s head turned, however, he realised that this was not the case.  

The pistachio green blanket Harry had given to him on Lord Mayor’s was draped across Louis’s pillow, and he let his fingers slide over the thick, lush fleece, curling into a fist around the worn fabric.  Louis had only had that blanket for a number of nights, and the edges of the material were already fraying and torn. 

As he lifted the blanket to his nose and let the sweet, honey-scented fragrance of Louis drift through his mind, the corners of his sore lips lifted into an inexplicable smile. Rising slowly to his feet once more, he let the soft, pink swathe of fleece of his blanket drop to the mattress, and he climbed back up onto his own bed.  

As he curled into a shameful, pathetic fetal position, he let a weak, miserable whimper trickle from his lips, and his fingers tightened around the bundle of green still clutched in his hand.

 

❡❡❡

 

Louis’s sea green eyes slid gently open.  A loud, sharp rapping on the door of the bathroom had interrupted his sulking.  His head, feeling heavier than lead, slowly rose from its place on his knees, the rough material of his jeans imprinted into his red cheek.  

“Lou?  It’s Niall.  Can I come in?” An innocent, Irish voice sounded form the other side of the wood.  Louis didn’t reply.  He did not want to talk to Niall, yet at the same time, he felt far too inanimate to bother sending him away.  “Lou?  Did you hear me?  Can I come in?” Niall repeated cluelessly, and Louis let his cheeks inflate before the air whirred pathetically from his red lips in a miserable sigh. 

“Okay, I’m just going to take that as a yes.” Niall said loudly, and Louis resisted the temptation to roll his eyes as the door swung open with a creak and the blonde lad stepped into the bathroom.  

“How’d you know where I was?” Louis asked, not quite caring.

“Zayn saw you run in,” Niall explained sheepishly.  

“Nice of him to spare a care,” Louis mumbled sarcastically, the corners of his mouth drooping.  

“Oh, c’mon, Louis, we both know you don’t want to be bothered.” Niall sighed.  

“Why are you here then?” Louis asked pointedly, his eyes locked solidly on a patch of wall just above the white baseboard of the bathroom.  

“Because we also both know that we need to straighten a few things out.” Niall said knowingly, a stern tone creeping into his voice, and Louis squirmed anxiously.  He had absolutely no desire to talk about what he had just done.  There was no changing what had happened, so they might as well pretend that it never did.  

“There’s nothing to straighten out,” he whispered, his stomach writhing with guilt at the lie.  

“Louis Tomlinson!” Niall exclaimed, and Louis was shocked to hear, for the first time, anger in his voice.  “Do you have any idea how inconsiderate you’re being?”  

“Niall-” 

“No, listen to me, Louis.” Niall said sternly as he walked quickly around Louis to sit in front of him, arms crossed reproachfully.  “I don’t care if you want to pretend the last ten minutes of your life never happened, but for you to just blow it off isn’t okay.  You’re really going to do that to Harry?” 

Louis swallowed, a painful lump lodging itself in his neck, the walls of his throat constricting. 

_Harry._ In the few moments since they had...kissed, Louis had not taken a single moment to pause and consider how  _he_ was reacting to all of this, to what Louis had done.  He must have confused him further; made his life only more difficult than it already was.  He had thought he’d be helping by embracing him somehow, and yet...He sighed, and complete shame enveloped him.  He was a horrible, horrible person, who did not deserve someone as amazing as Harry in his life.  He didn’t deserve anyone.  

“Is he okay?” he whispered, his lips mumbling indistinctly against the denim of his jeans.  Niall did not respond at first; he merely let his breath run through his nose as he sat before Louis, eying him thoroughly, but he finally opened his lips to speak.  

“You know, ordinarily, I would tell you whatever you want to hear, just to make you feel better.  But you deserve better than that, Lou.  You both do.”  Louis blinked in mild surprise, before heavy skepticism accompanied the shame rising in his chest.  Of course he didn’t.  Poor Harry might have been a different matter, but Louis would never deserve anything good in his life, and Niall was blind as a bat if he couldn’t see that.  All the same, he let Niall continue. 

“In all honesty, he’s not okay.  He’s wrecked, Louis.  And we all know, you included, that you are quite literally the only person on the planet who can get him out of his funk.”  Louis sighed, letting his warm breath, still tainted with the lush, masculine taste of Harry, fall across his knees, heating them.  

“I’m the only person on the planet who can make him feel so terribly in the first place, Ni.  This is all my fault.”  

“Of course you’re not, Louis.  Harry’s a sensitive, fragile guy, and he’s hurt easily.Lou, the only reason he's hurt so badly by what you've done if because he trusts you and loves you enough to let you close to him.  You know how many people he's let in to his life?  Who he can tell anything to?  Who he would do anything for?  You're special, Louis.  You both are." Niall said quietly. "On the other hand, you really  _are_ to blame for this.  Harry was in tears when you ran out on him like that.”  Louis’s expression morphed from that of dejection to one of complete shock.  

“He was?” He asked in disbelief.  Why had Harry been so upset?  After he had kissed him, Louis had been sure Harry would want nothing to do with him.  He had gotten out of there as quickly as he could for Harry’s sake, thinking that it was what he had wanted.  If he was in  _tears,_ however... 

“Of  _course_ he was, Louis.  He cares about you.  So much.” Niall said gently.  

“I know,” Louis sobbed into his knees.  “I care about him too.”  

“Then tell him,” Niall shrugged, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.  “Get back in there and tell him how you feel, Louis.”  

“How...How I  _feel?”_ Louis asked in confusion.  What did Niall mean?  Niall sighed, running his hand warily over his face, and he mumbled something that sounded distinctly similar to “Here we go again...”  “Niall, what do you mean?” Louis pressed urgently.  If Niall meant what he  _thought_ he meant...He couldn't think about that again, he couldn't think about how...About Harry...About him....

“You should know by now, Louis.  You’re a clever bloke.” Niall muttered, looking absolutely exasperated as he eyed the Doncaster lad sternly.  

“Know what?” Louis asked, voice shaking, all though he knew exactly what Niall meant, and Niall knew it too.

“Think about it,” Niall growled.  “How do you feel when you’re around him?  What goes through your mind?”  

_Well, that was easy,_ Louis thought sheepishly as he blinked, his eyes drifting slowly from Niall’s frustrated face to the blank tile beneath him.  When he was with Harry, he felt on top of the world, as if he were the most important, valuable, most loved person on the planet.  He felt as if he had the universe in the palm of his hand, as if he could shift the heavens.  He felt like he  _mattered._

When he was with Harry, a tranquility and happiness to the likes of nothing he had ever felt before overwhelmed him.  He felt like he  _belonged._

He felt....Loved.  So, so loved.  

“I can see it, Lou,” Niall whispered, blinking as his blue orbs widened.  “I can see it in your face and your eyes.  Stop lying to yourself, Louis.  Stop lying to  _Harry._ ”  And with that, the blonde boy rose to his feet, rubbing the boy’s shoulder gently, and left the bathroom, leaving a very trepidatious Louis in his wake.  

 


	20. Open Your Ears

❡❡❡

 

The next day, Harry disappeared.

After that strange, unearthly moment between he and Louis in the bedroom, the two of them had proceeded to lock themselves in separate rooms until they were dragged into the van for the performance by a very frustrated Liam  The finals had gone smoothly but uncomfortably, and despite Harry's negative beliefs and the obvious tension between two particular band members on stage, they miraculously pulled through to week nine.  

After the performance, Harry had trundled upstairs, head bent and eyes down, before collapsing in his bunk and going out like a light.  Louis had proceeded to hide himself away in the den until long past midnight; until he could be sure he wouldn't run into the curly-haired boy on his way to bed, and hadn't noticed the oddly empty bunk above his as he wriggled beneath the blankets.

Now, Louis gaped at the empty dresser drawer, hanging open and bare from the wood chest and startlingly free of the familiar clothes. His head swiveled on his shoulders to peer towards the corner of the room where Harry's suitcase usually lay, and his eyes widened when they met only a blank, bare patch of carpet. He turned, and his eyebrows only furrowed in further confusion when he realized that Harry's bunk had been stripped of sheets and blankets, the mattress naked and lonely against the wood.

_...What on earth..._

He'd even taken the soft, pink blanket. It was as if he'd never been here in the first place. 

The first thing to reach Louis's head was panic. Harry was gone.  _Harry was gone._ His Harry was  _gone._  This was awful, this was everything terrible, this...this was...

  
The second thing to reach his head was confusion. Where on earth could he have gone on such short notice, and why had he gone at all? Surely, Simon wouldn't have allowed this, not on the week of the finals...

The third emotion Louis experienced was shame. This must have been his fault. If only he hadn't been so inconsiderate to Harry, messing with his feelings and ignoring him like a layer of dust... What had he been thinking?

"Where's Harry?" He asked curiously, before looking around and realising that the other three had already headed down to breakfast.

"Harry?" he called anxiously, struggling to limit his speed as he hurried from the room and down the corridor.  "Harry!" he hollered, head flopping left and right on his shoulders while he peered into each room.  "Harry!" he shouted again, beginning to panic.  "Harry!  Where are you?"  He gnawed on his lip, face scrunched with anxiety.  He leaped into the kitchen, searched the den, the rehearsal studio, the garage... Harry was nowhere to be found.

 _Oh, no, no, no..._ Had he been booted from the competition?  Had Simon been so incredibly frustrated with his poor performance lately that he had actually fired him from One Direction; sent him home?  

At this thought, Louis's heart dropped in his chest, and his face whitened.   _No, he couldn't have..._ One Direction without Harry wasn't One Direction at all.  Hell, without  _any_ of the boys- without Liam, without Zayn, without Niall, without Louis- there was no One Direction.  They  _needed_ Harry, they needed all of the boys.  Simon couldn't  _possibly_ have kicked him out... _No...._

"Harry!" Louis screeched, now completely agitated as he barrelled through the den and towards the rehearsal studio once more.  "Haz..."

He blinked as he caught sight of the small shelf beside the door of the studio.  Harry's microphone was still in its place, the labeled tape wrapped tightly around the black base.  

"What..." Did this mean Harry was still here; that he hadn't been booted?  But then, where  _was_ he? What was going on?

"Harry?" he hollered again, chewing frantically on his lower lip as he skidded into the common room, and four startled faces looked up at the sound of his entrance.  Niall, Matt, Rebecca, and Zayn were sprawled lazily on the sofa, all diddling with phones and with magazines.  

"Jesus, Louis, what-" Cher began, looking irritated, but Louis interrupted her.

"Where's Harry?" he asked, barrelling across the floor and nearly springing right into Niall's lap as he gazed trepidatiously at the Irish boy, who looked quite frightened at the moment. 

"Louis, calm-" he started, but Louis didn't have time to hear petty warnings.  He wanted to know where Harry was, and why his things had gone missing.  

"Where'd he go, Niall?  None of his things are here, even his blanket it gone, and...and I..." he screeched shrilly, his cheeks beginning to flood as he stuttered.

Niall's gaze softened as Louis's eyes widened with anxiety, and he sighed, rising from the sofa and wrapping his hand around Louis's arm.

"C'mere, bud," he said quietly, leading Louis into the kitchen, away from the interested eyes of the other contestants.  

"Is he okay?  Simon didn't kick him out, did he?  I know he hasn't been doing well lately, but it's because-"

"Louis, shut up for a minute," Niall smiled, and Louis pursed his lips before flinging himself forwards against Niall's chest.  Niall blinked, startled, before recovering and wrapping his arms around Louis's shoulders.  

But he wasn't doing it  _right,_ Louis noticed, because Niall didn't know how to tuck Louis into his chest like Harry did, and Niall didn't let his fingers  trace circles around Louis's hips like Harry did, and Niall didn't nuzzle his chin into the dip of Louis's neck like Harry did, and in that moment, he just wanted Harry to hold him so badly, despite all of the confusing feelings, and despite that strange kiss.... _  
_

"He's fine, Lou," Niall said in his ear, patting his back reassuringly.  "Don't worry, he hasn't been kicked out.  Simon would never fire him; you know that."

"Then where's he gone?" Louis whimpered, all though he had to admit, his anxiety had lessened drastically as Niall had reassured him that Harry was still a member of the band.   _  
_

"He's in Cheshire, Lou." Niall told him, and Louis froze, frowning.

 _Cheshire?_ Why on earth was Harry in  _Cheshire?_ This was finals week; the contestants' vacations would not be arriving for a good few days.  Why hadn't Harry waited until then to visit home?

"After...Well, after what happened yesterday, I think he needed to get away from the house and take some time to consider things.  He left last night."

"How do you know this?" Louis demanded, recoiling slightly to eye Niall suspiciously, still confused as to why Harry would need to leave so urgently. 

"He..." Niall gulped, looking suddenly guilty.  "He said goodbye to me before he left.  But only because I was the last one awake," he added quickly as Louis's face crumpled just a little.  

"He...He didn't say anything...about..." Louis asked tentatively, stuttering slightly. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what he was asking.  He wasn't sure what he  _wanted_ Harry to have said.  Maybe he wanted him to have asked Niall to tell Louis goodbye for him; maybe he wanted him to have told Niall to tell Louis to call him; he didn't know...Just  _something._ Niall only bit his lip, looking suddenly sheepish.

"Uh...No, he didn't say anything.  But I'm sure that's just because he was in a hurry, Lou," Niall pleaded.  "Everyone else was sleeping, and he didn't want to make a scene, all right?  He didn't say anything about  _anyone,_ not Zayn, not Liam...Don't take it personally, bud."

"Y-yeah," Louis mumbled, mouth hanging open and eyes round as he slowly slid from Niall's grasp.  Harry- his best friend, the person he was closer to than any other- hadn't even said goodbye to him?  Hadn't told him he was leaving?  Had he  _planned_ to leave?  He hadn't said anything about leaving the show, not even for a few days.  Surely, Louis deserved to know that he was going?

Then again, after what had happened yesterday, Louis couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

 

❡❡❡

 

"Mum, someone's at the door."

Harry heard his sister's muffled voice from within the familiar house, and his heart broke in his chest, just a little bit; it'd been so long since he'd hear her speak.

"Must be another one of those bloody lawn labour men..." 

And then his mother was speaking, and suddenly Harry was so anxious to see her again, to be held by her once more after so many weeks... He was sick of putting forth a brave, fixed face; he just wanted to be his mother's baby again, just for a couple of minutes...

The door swung open, and Harry had a glimpse of the tired, irritated face of his mother, hazel eyes red and drooping, before she froze. 

"H-Harry?"

"Hi, mum," he whispered, biting his lip and feeling quite small and childish at the moment.  He heard the gasp of his mother as her expression shifted from exhausted to overwhelmed, and suddenly he was being suffocated by a pair of warm, soft arms and the familiar feeling of cashmere.  

"You didn't tell us you were coming home," she breathed against his neck, and to his embarrassment, he felt something warm and wet on his skin.  He'd made his mother cry...

"I know, I'm sorry," he replied, his sown voice breaking as he let his suitcase and pillow fall to the porch with a thunk and wrapped his arms around her, burrowing into her grasp.  He just needed to be held for a moment, to be held without guilt lining his gut or butterflies filling his chest.  This was perfect, just hugging his mum again.  He felt safe, he felt certain.  

"Come inside, come inside," she said hurriedly, looking a bit flustered as she bent to grab his pillow from the ground, and he lifted his suitcase, holding the door open for her as she entered. 

Walking back into the home of his childhood was like stepping into a strange nightmare.  Dark and unpleasant, and yet, sentimental.  There was the couch that had never been comfortable.  There was the coffee table that looked like a dull, drowsy shade of mud.  There was the picture of Harry and Gemma hanging from the wall- the picture that had been cut from a shot of the children and their father.  

Harry blinked, not wanting to see anything else, to be reminded of how he was living previously, and turned to look at his mother, setting his stuff down at the foot of the stairs.

"Gem!" Anne called, looking a bit emotionally overwhelmed as she bellowed towards the kitchen.

"Mum, I'm on the phone!" Gemma hollered, and the corners of Harry's mouth lifted.  

"Now!" Anne said sharply, and Gemma groaned something irritated to whomever she was speaking to before barrelling lazily into the living room, opening her mouth to tell her mother off.  

"Mum, I'm  _busy,_ do you know who I was- Harry!" She blinked, her annoyed expression shifting into a delighted smile, and she pushed past her mother to tuck her baby brother into her grasp, and  _God,_ Harry'd missed her more than he'd realised.  

"Hi, Gem," he mumbled against the fabric of her sweatshirt as he hugged her, and it was a little nice to  _know,_ to know that he hated her and that she hated him but they always had one another's back, and that was simply all that there was.  Nothing else; no strange feelings, no heartache...

"You okay?" she asked sharply, eyes narrowing in suspicion as she recoiled, eying Harry's face, and he blushed under her gaze.  Gemma had always been able to read him more thoroughly and accurately than anyone else he knew.  Well, until he'd met Louis Tomlinson, that is.

"Mm," he could only hum in reply, the corners of his mouth dropping down across his face like melting chocolate, and he didn't miss the weary glances exchanged by his mother and sister.  "I...I ought to get my things upstairs, haven't I," he grunted, struggling to break the thick silence that had suddenly fallen over the room, and Anne smiled, still thrilled with the prospect of having her son home again, and to herself.

"Course, darling, I'll help you..." Her hands fluttered over his single duffel bag and pillow, and he smiled, rolling his eyes. 

"Mum, don't be ridiculous," he shook his head, letting the light bag sway easily from his hand, and she only smiled as he hurried up the steps to set his things down on the dusty, familiar dresser.  

When Harry looked around the room, it felt as if a pebble was falling slowly through his chest, clinking and bouncing off of everything inside him, every piece of him and his life that reminded him of the way he was; for there was the mirror he'd cut himself on when he was fourteen.  He'd slipped and fallen, feeling woozy because he hadn't been able to find his stash of pink pills, and he'd been surprised when he'd  _liked_ the feeling of the glass in his skin.

There was the razor, sitting in the desk drawer, still hidden after all these years, that he'd cut himself on one week later- this time, intentionally.

There was the the bundle of stained ace-wrap stored in the corner of his bedframe, just as undiscovered as the razor, that he'd used to staunch the flow of blood when, once, he'd cut too deep.

There was the note he'd written to himself that same night- the night he'd promised he'd quit.  There was the row of tallies scratched into the underside of his nightstand, the tallies counting the days he'd gone without cutting.  

There was that blank, empty patch of wood where the tallies ended.

He blinked, struggling to blind himself of the room's contents as he shook his head and let his pillow fly to the head of his bed, and as quickly as he could, he turned and headed back downstairs.  He didn't like this room.  He never had, and he sure as well wasn't about to change his thoughts now.  No, not now.

He smiled when his mother tucked him into a second hug at the bottom of the stairs, and it dawned on him just how much he'd missed her.  

"Here, let's get some tea going, shall we?" she asked, still looking quite flustered, and Harry sighed, relieved that she was prolonging the time before he would need to explain why he was here. "Gem!" Anne hollered.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Gemma grumbled, and Harry grinned.  The familiar whirring of the old, obnoxious kettle filled the air, and he bit his lip, not sure whether or not the sound was comforting.  

"There you are," Anne said tenderly a moment later, handing him a steaming mug, and Harry mumbled in thanks as he followed her into the living room

"So, er," Anne began, looking quite tentative as she eyed her youngest, and Harry's cheeks burned embarrasedly when he realised she was trying to figure out how to approach the reasons behind his visit.  "H-how...How are things?"

"Oh, for crying out loud," Gemma rolled her eyes, casting an insensitive glance towards the pair of them. "Haz, you've got to perform one of the biggest gigs in your life in about six days.  Why the fuck are you  _here?_ "

"Language!" Anne snapped, but Gemma only smiled sheepishly, waving her off.  Harry might have smiled, but now, he was expected to find an answer to Gemma's question.  Harry wasn't even sure  _he_ knew the answer to that one.   _Uh, I'm hopelessly in love with my bandmate and he's batting my feelings around like a pinata?  I had an emotional breakdown in the middle of a movie premier and in front of Joe McElderry?  I think my anti-depressant is mentally eating me alive?  I'm become more dramatic and socially overwhelmed than a teenage girl on her period, but hey, what else is new?_

"Missed you guys," he mumbled feebly, eyes never leaving his lap, because he wasn't  _lying._ He just wasn't telling them the whole truth.  Well, Gemma seemed to come to this realisation as quickly as Harry had reasoned this.

"Bull," she sniped, and Anne cast a deathly glare in her direction.  

"Gem, a  _moment?_ " she snapped, and Gemma sighed, popping her hip in a comically dramatic manner before sending Harry a sharp gaze and trouncing into the kitchen.  

"We've missed you too, sweetheart," Anne began, her voice much quieter and wary than Gemma's had been, and Harry clenched his jaw.  "But there's got to be more than that going on. Like Gem said, you've got a very important night coming up.  The show is almost  _over._ Why chose to visit now, of all times?"

"It's..." Harry mumbled,  _really_ not wanting to talk about this right now.  "Complicated." he finished.  

Some people might have been dissatisfied with this answer; might have demanded more answers, but anyone who'd ever known Harry knew just what he was saying.  Anne was no different; she was silent for a moment, warm eyes running up and down her son's face, before she leaned forward and tugged him into a third, cozy hug.  

Sometimes, a person just needs to be held.

"Whatever it is, darling, it'll be okay," she mumbled, patting his back while Harry rested his chin on her shoulder, blinking quietly and melting against her chest.

"I know," he mumbled out of habit, the response having grown instinctively.  What he really wanted to ask was,  _How do you know that?  How can you prove to me that everything will be all right?_ But he'd gotten used to the fact that no one would ever be able to offer a decent answer, so all he said was, "I know."  

"Is there something going wrong on the show?  Is the pressure becoming too much; do you not like your bandmates, or your mentor?" she asked, concern lining every corner of her face, and Harry shook his head.

"No," he mumbled, this time, completely honestly.  The pressure and stress of the show really hadn't bothered him since the third performance, that horrible night of failure as he'd given his solo to Liam, as he'd let Louis down.  "No, nothing like that."

"Are your mates fighting?" she continued, her tone growing softer and softer, and Harry  _hated_ just how gentle she sounded, because he knew she was measuring him, was being wary and cautious. 

"I dunno," he said slowly.  Were he and Louis fighting?  No, never... On tricky terms?  Yes, that was a given.  "I...There's this, er,  _person..._ And things are weird between us."

"Oh," Anne said softly, understanding dawning her face with a small smile.  "Would this  _person_ happen to be...Oh, I dunno, a  _crush?"_ she grinned, and now he knew she was teasing him.  He couldn't help the shy msile that dawned his mouth as he bit his lip, and that seemed to be all the answer she needed.  "I'll take that as a yes," she grinned.

"I..." Harry struggled to deny it, but there was no use; not when his mother was grinning so slyly and when his cheeks were blushing so fiercely.

"Well, then," Anne smiled.  "Let's hear it.  Who is the lucky lady?"

And just like that, Harry's heart was dropping like a stone into his stomach once more, because  _here it was,_ that factor that had been haunting him for weeks; the foreignness of homosexuality and bisexuality that had plagued his family's minds, keeping Harry's identity from them and at bay.  Who was he to know whether or not, if he spoke the truth, he would be on a one-way trip back to London with nowhere to go afterwards?

Before he could do anything but blink and gape over unspoken words, the front door creaked open with a bang.

"Afternoon, family!" Robin's voice boomed happily, and Harry exhaled with mingled apprehension and relief; at least he had been saved by the bell in this case.  

"Darling!" Anne called eagerly from her seat on the sofa, bouncing on the cushions.  "Look!  Look who's here."

"Who's here?" Robin asked curiously, setting his laptop bag down by the shoerack and sliding out of his loafers as he hopped into the living room.  His face lit as he caught sight of his stepson.  

"Harry, m'boy!  We weren't expecting you!" He grinned, wiggling his fingers and beckoning Harry towards him.  "Nearly two months without a hug, bring it in!" Harry couldn't help but smile as he rose from the sofa and wrapped his arms around his stepfather's neck.  

"Hi, Robin," he smiled, and Robin clapped him heartily on the back.  

"Good to have you back, son, your sister's been driving everyone nuts with her fawning." He rolled his eyes, adapting a high, squeaky voice in the impersonation of Gemma's.  " _'Who am I going to fight with when he's gone?  What if he gets hurt?  I miss him-_ '" 

"I have  _not!"_ Gemma hollered, death in her face as she trumped past the living room and up the stairs, and Harry and Robin shared exasperated glances, both grinning.  

"You look peaky as snow, love, let's get some food in you.  I'm surprised your mother hasn't stuffed you like a pig yet," Robin smiled affectionately towards his wife, and Anne rolled his eyes as she followed the two boys into the kitchen.  Thankfully, the subject of Harry's unrest was dropped.

 

❡❡❡

 

"Gemma," Anne smiled, looking pleased as punch to have her family together again as her fork clinked against the china of the plate before her.  "Gem, tell Harry about the social.  The...Oh, what was it, the November fest you went to."

"Mm?" Harry asked, exaggerating his curiosity- as long as the attention was away from him, he was fine with any topic of conversation.  When Gemma blushed, however, immediately diverting her gaze, he became a little more interested.  "What happened, Gem?" he asked, grinning slyly, and she shot him a very rude hand gesture from beneath the table.

"Saw that," Robin sang under his breath, not looking up from his plate, and Gemma sent him an exasperated glance.  Robin only winked, and the pair of them cast conspiratorial looks towards Anne, who seemed oblivious.

"Yes," Anne continued, eyes twinkling.  "Gem, do tell.  I remember you saying you had lots of fun. There was music, and food, and dancing, and lights, and drinks...Hmm, something else..." She pretended to ponder, a teasing smile on her face, and Gemma blushed beet-red.

"Mum, don't say it," she groaned, and Robin grinned, eyebrows waggling.

"Oh, I remember, love, she brought a  _boy_ with her, didn't she?" he taunted, and Gemma buried her face in her hands, looking like tomatoes in porcelain.  

"What?  A boy?" Harry asked sharply, somewhat suspicious as he looked up towards Gemma.  He may have been the younger sibling, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to look out for her- especially in the case of relationships.

"Yes, a  _boy;_ I brought a  _boy_ with me, why don't we just throw a parade?" Gemma grumped, and the table laughed, each of them quite enjoying themselves as they teased her.

"That wasn't all, was it?" Anne coaxed, her smile stretching across her face, and Gemma peered over her fingers towards her mother, sheer hell in her eyes.  

"Don't," she warned her, her cheeks just as red as the sweatshirt on her shoulders now, and Robin waved for Anne to continue.

"Gemma got a kiss," Anne gloated, like a best friend gushing over the romance of her two mates, and Harry's eyebrows rose across his forehead.

"Ooh," Robin teased her, and Gemma proceeded to thunk her head repeatedly against the table, muttering threats of obliteration and homicide, and Harry chuckled.

"You better marry that boy, Gems," Robin said, half-stern and half-humorously as he waved his fork in her direction.  "I'll not have you running around kissing lad after lad."

"Yeah, because I'm  _twelve_ and I  _do_ that," Gemma replied sarcastically, looking quite like she'd like to sink into the floor for all eternity.

"I'll second that order," Harry volunteered, and Robin nodded gratefully in his direction, winking.

"See, Gem, Harry knows how it's done.  You won't see this boy running around with every girl he crosses, will you?" Robin smiled. 

 _Oh,_ Harry thought, they were crossing into  _that_ territory.  Immediately, his shoulders hunched, and the smile seemed to slide off of his face- because Robin was certainly right in that assumption.

"No, never. Not our baby Harry," Anne grinned, eyes twinkling as she rested her chin upon her clasped hands and smiled fondly towards her son.  "He'll marry the first girl he falls for; won't you love?"

A nervous sweat had begun to break out across Harry's forehead.

"Not like Gemma here, tossing boys back and forth," Robin teased her, completely harmlessly as he sent her an affectionate wink.  "You'll spoil your wife rotten, won't you?" he continued, turning back to Harry.  "Buy her fancy shoes and dresses and those...Oh, what are those things...Acrylic nails? Is that what you call them?"

This was all going horridly wrong.  Why on earth did they need to talk about  _this,_ of all things?  Couldn't they talk about Holmes Chapel, or football, or cats?  Cats were nice.  Why couldn't they talk about cats?  Anything but this...

"Have dozens of children, eh?  Run me out of my money, what with all the gifts I'll need to buy for my grandkids," Anne chuckled, and Harry found his knuckles beginning to turn white as he gripped the edge of his seat.

"S-so, how's the cat, mum?" he asked shakily, his eyes round and hairline damp, and he cursed himself mentally when Gemma piped, "Oh yeah, and cats!  You'll have loads of cats.  You'll be like a crazy cat lady, except you'd be a dude, and drive your lass mad."

"Gem," Anne scolded, but she was smiling as she tapped her daughter's shoulder.  "But you  _do_ have a rather odd love of cats, Harry," she added kindly, and Harry groaned.

"His wife will be picking fur off of his clothes all day," Robin chuckled, and Harry just wanted the talk of  _wives_ and  _girls_ and  _marriage_ to end...

"Drive her mad, you will," Gemma piped, smirking.

"But I'm sure she'll love you no matter what," Anne offered kindly, eyes warm, and though Harry knew she was trying to comfort him, he felt as if he were melting on the spot with anxiety.  _Stop,_ he wanted to tell them.   _Stop, stop, stop..._

"Well, Harry, let's hear it.  You must have found one or two nice girls, being a brand-new popstar, eh?" Robin teased him.  "C'mon, there's got to be one lucky girl in that house."

Harry froze. Well, there  _was_ someone he'd taken quite the liking to.  There was just one problem.  That  _someone_ happened to be a boy, and that boy happened to be Louis.

"Out with it, then," Gemma grinned.  "Who's the lass?"

The entire table fell silent as all three people simply  _stared_ at him, eyes probing and expectant, and suddenly Harry couldn't move his limbs.  His face was hotter than it'd been in quite some time, and his eyes were widening to the size of dishes.

"Harry," Anne said slowly, caughtening on to her son's distress, "Haz, what's wrong-" But before she could finish, Harry had risen from his chair and strode from the room as quickly as he could, sending his silverware scattering to the floor as he did so.

Shutting the door loudly behind him, he let himself lean forward against the wall, welcoming the cool plaster as it hit his hot forehead, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His head was pounding, his ears rushing with blood and nerves, and  _God,_ he hadn't been prepared for that...

This was just another wake-up call; something letting him know that what he wanted was never going to be or do what his family expected of him; that he would never be able to please them as long as he was interested in men. Here he was, surrounded by the people he loved more than anything in the world, and he was weighted with the knowledge of knowing he'd disappoint them...

How ironic, that he'd come here for solace and for comfort, and that he'd only received more anguish in its place.   _Where on earth could he go, what on earth could he do?_

His pulse pressed quietly against the skin of his wrist, tapping him on the cheek as he rested his face in his hands, and he sighed shakily through his mouth.  He was hoping, praying with all his might that his family would just  _let him be_ for now, that they'd understand that he was in no mood to talk, but he knew that was wishful thinking.  Sure enough...

"Harry."

His mother's voice startled him, and he jumped, elbows knocking clumsily against the wall. He felt a familiar hand on his shoulder before she spun him slowly around, turning him to look her in the eye.

"Harry, what on earth happened back there?  Is there something you want to talk about?" she asked, and Harry bit his lip.

_Yes.  No.  I don't know._

He simply shrugged, lips quivering slightly and heavy eyes locked on the floor.  He'd lost control of his emotions quite a lot in the past few weeks, but he wasn't going to do it now- not in front of his mother, not about this, not when he was meant to be so strong, so determined.  

"Harry Edward," His mother repeated, her voice growing slightly sterner, and he swallowed.  Well, once she started up that ladder, there was no coming back down.  He knew she wasn't going to let this drop, not now.  "Harry, what's bothering you?  You know you can talk to me about anything, don't you?"  

 _I don't know,_ Harry thought, blinking furiously as the heat began to burn behind his eyes once more.  _Not when it comes to things like these..._

"There's something you're not telling me," Anne said, eyes narrowing shrewdly as she crossed her arms over her chest.  "Why you're here, why you caused such a scene at dinner...Harry, what's going on?  What's got you behaving so strangely?" And Harry wanted to tell her, he really did, but once he'd done so, he couldn't be sure of the consequences of his actions.  He couldn't take that risk; the risk of losing his family.  He  _wouldn't._

"Nothing, mum," he said, his voice harsher than he'd intended, and a flicker of pain shot across his mother's face before her face hardened. 

"Don't talk back to me, mister.  I want to know what's going on, and I want to know now.  What's bothering you?"

"I...It's nothing..." he said, his breaths beginning to grow shallow as he turned, lookign desperately around the room, as if for an escape.  "I..." When he began to shake, shoulders trembling and eyelashes fluttering, Anne's face whitened.

"Haz," she said, her voice immediately lowering as she reached forward to grab his hands in hers.  "Harry, calm down.  Calm down, and tell me what's the matter.  It will help, I swear..."

"I can't be sure that it will," Harry croaked, his eyes wide and scared like a doe's, and his mother seemed to melt below him as she watched her son fall to pieces.  "You don't know that, you can't...I can't...I..." He bit his lip, and to his utter embarrassment and humiliation, he felt the tears beginning to grow hot behind his eyelids again, shameful and revealing, and he turned to dab his eyes on the collar of his shirt.

"There, there," Anne hushed him, rubbing her hand over his arm.  "Harry, c'mon.  You know you can tell me anything.  What's wrong?"

"I..." Harry croaked, looking everywhere but to her as he gnawed on his lower lip.  "I...I just...I need to know something."  Anne simply blinked, waiting or him to continue.  His throat clenched, and he struggled to make himself heard.  He…He  _needed_ to be heard… Didn’t he?

“What is it, love?” Anne asked, full-fledged concern etching every line in her face, and as she heard the repressed sobs tightening in Harry’s mouth, she extended a hand, brushing a curl gently behind his ear.

“Do you love me?” Harry mewled, uncertain hope in his face, and Anne’s own face seemed to melt.

“Harry, of  _course_ I love you.  Why would you need to ask, darling; what’s wrong?”

“And you promise to love me no matter what?” Harry asked, ignoring her as his lip trembled.  “You promise you’ve always loved me and that you’ll love me forever, even if I do something wrong?”

“I will  _always_  love you.  You know that,” Anne nodded, mouth still open with concern, and her brows furrowed.  “Sweetheart, if you’ve done something wrong,  _everyone_ makes mistakes; everything is reparable.”

 _Mistake._ Wrong?  Maybe to some people.  A mistake?   _Never._

Harry shook his head, face crumpling, and stifled sobs sounding in thick breaths through his nose. 

“Harry, what’s wrong?  What’s happened?” Anne asked, looking suddenly quite agitated as her son went to pieces in front of her.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, burying his face in his hands and struggling to keep his breaths even, to keep himself under control. “But I’m afraid you won’t love me anymore.”

“Harry, calm down.  You know I’ll love you matter what.”

“Y-you swear?” Harry asked, eyes glazing and vision blurred as he looked desperately down into her face, and Anne nodded certainly. 

“Yes, love, I swear on my life.  Now tell me what’s the matter.”

“Mum,” Harry began, his heart thrumming in his chest, and suddenly the words he rehearsed in his head didn’t seem to be able to reach his mouth. “I…I’ve been trying really, really hard to be in relationships and to find pretty girls, and I don’t want to be the way that I am, but…I can’t…I can’t do anything…”

“Shh,” Anne hushed him, cupping her arms around his shoulders and tugging him gently down to the sofa beside them.  “Harry, love, just breath.  Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.” Harry sniffled, not daring to look his mother in the eye as he continued.

“I try so hard, mum, I really, really do.  I'm trying for you and for Robin, and It’s not like…I just can’t help it, I really can’t.  I’m trying…I’m trying…”

“Sweetheart,  _what_ are you trying to do?” Anne coaxed him, looking completely bewildered, and Harry bit his lip, knowing it was too late to change his mind now.  He did as Anne said.  He took a deep breath, the air shuddering as it rippled past his lips, and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down.   _Slow,_ he willed his fluttering heart.   _Slow._

“You know how you always told me,” he began, his voice still shaking but not quite as nerve-wracked.  He still did not dare to open his eyes.  “Whenever you read Gemma and me bedtimes stories, that Gemma would find a prince, and that I’d a find a beautiful princess and that we’d buy a nice castle and live happily ever after together?  That I would find a wonderful wife and buy her nice dresses and shoes and jewelry?”

“Yes,” Anne said slowly, a frown now creasing her forehead as she gazed at Harry, completely lost.  

“And all that back there..." Harry waved in the direction of the dining room where Gemma and Robin sat in wait.  ".About marrying some girl and spoiling her rotten..." He bit his lip, closing his eyes. "Mum, I don’t want to find a princess.   I want to find a prince. I don't want to find a wife; I want a husband.  I…” He swallowed, and his heart was beginning to thud against his ribcage again.

“I like  _boys,_ mum.” He finished. 

A stunned silence fell over the room, and before Harry could glimpse Anne’s reaction, he buried his face in his hands, not wanting to see  _disgust_  or  _shame_ or  _disgrace…_

“Oh God, please say something,” he begged quietly, still not daring to face his mother—his own mother—and when nothing but silence continued to fall over the pair of them, his heart seemed to drop like a rock into his stomach, straight through the floor.  

He’d done it.  He’d lost Louis, and now he’d lost his own mother.  He really was a massively impressive fuck-up, wasn’t he…

“Baby, come here.”

And then, he was being folded against her chest, her fingers unsure and uncomfortable as they patted small circles into his back, and her hug was odd and wary, but it was  _there;_ and she wasn’t glaring at him like something she’d scarped off the bottom of her shoe; she wasn’t chucking his things at him, telling him to leave—and that was all that mattered.

“You don’t hate me?” he breathed with mingled hope and disbelief, lips caught between his teeth and eyes warm as they leaked into her sweater. 

“Didn’t you hear me?  I could  never hate you, love.  Are...Are you  _sure?_ " Anne asked, looking slightly hesitant as she leaned backwards to eye Harry carefully, almost as if she were hoping this was all one massive, practical joke...

"Positive," Harry mumbled, shame bubbling in his stomach as he stared solemnly down at his shoes, and Anne sighed, nodding to herself for a long moment before tucking Harry back into her arms.

"Well...Okay.  Okay, if you're sure.  I'm glad you can be honest with me, love, and...Well, I'm glad your'e figuring out who you are.  Really."

"You are?" Harry asked, voice still cracking over every word.  "You're not disgusted?  Not disappointed?"

"Well," Anne sighed.  "I must admit, I'm not thrilled with idea, but...Honey, listen," she begged as Harry sniffled, biting his lip.  "This is only because those kinds of people are never treated very well in society, all right?  I'm just afraid of you getting hurt.  I don't...The last thing I want is for you to be hurt." she admitted, her own eyes fearful now as she patted her son's back.  

"Thank you," Harry mumbled into her sweater a moment later, after they'd been hugging for quite some time.  "Thank you for...For still loving me."

"Oh, Harry," Anne sighed, her own voice cracking now.  "I'm your mother.  If you robbed a bank, I would still love you."

"You mean that?" Harry whispered, and Anne nodded tearfully.  

"You know I do.  I'm proud of you, baby, for coming forward to me with this.  You know that too, right?"  Harry could only nod, because honestly, how else could he reply.  

"Let's just..." Anne began, hesitating as her eyes flickered back towards the dining room.  "Let's just not tell your stepdad about this."

 

❡❡❡

 

That night, Harry couldn't sleep.  

Usually, once the stimulant of the pink pill had worn off and he began to crash, he would be out like a light.  Apparently, tonight was the exception, however. 

He rolled onto his side, letting his head flop over his right arm, and he breathed in and out for a long moment before realising he really wasn't comfortable at all and rolling onto his other side.  He groaned quietly as a crick began to form in his neck, and he flopped lazily onto his back, glaring ferociously towards the dark ceiling.  

Some nights, he had lain in bed, wishing that maybe lightning would strike the house and the roof would fall straight on top of him, sending him right to sleep.  Some nights, he wondered what it would be like.

As he blew a strand of damp hair from his warm forehead, he knew that he wasn't sure whether or not tonight was one of those nights, and it was the uncertainty that was frustrating him.  He sat up, scowling around at the dark room and cursing the reason of his restlessness, whatever that may be.  Why couldn't he fall asleep?  

Maybe if he just took a couple of sedatives...

He rose from his mattress, padding quietly across the floor to the desk where he knew a stash of allergy medications and sleeping pills lay in wait.  He'd never liked going downstairs and to the cold bathroom when he forgot to take a Benadryl or a Motrin, and he was grateful, now, that he kept these here.  

But...  _Where were they?_

No pills, no pills, no pills, he thought as he rummaged through the contents of his desk drawer, searching frantically for what he needed.  Pills...

He froze as his finger nicked something sharp, something oddly familiar...He yanked the entire drawer free of its casing, ignoring the pencils and post notes that tumbled noisily to the floor, and his eyes widened when he caught sight of the thing he'd touched.

Sharp, smooth, shining...How many times had that edge cut into his skin; traced soft patterns of hatred into his flesh?  He eyed the gleaming blade, heart suddenly beating in his chest a little too quickly, and for a fleeting moment he thought of what it would be like to feel that cold metal, to see that red one more time...

When he realised he'd missed the feeling all too much, he found himself snatching the blade up into his fingers, eyes wide and mouth parted as he breathed, as if thinking to himself,  _Oh God, I'm really doing this... Going back..._

Harry hadn't cut for three and half months.  The scars were still there - hell, they'd always be there - but they were fading, dulling, as if giving up.  Surrendering to Harry, acknowledging his strength.

And yet, how was he to know it wasn't a ploy; that he had any strength in the first place?

 _You don't.  You know that; stop flattering yourself..._ That voice was saying again.   _Cut.  You deserve it; you deserve to feel it and to see it, remember?  Remember how nice that feels, to know and to see?_

"Shut up," he whispered audibly, his jaw suddenly clenching, and he knew then, he must be going mad.  Shit, why couldn't he be normal, why couldn't he be good enough for Lou...

In  _one second._ In less than  _one second,_ he could feel it again; feel the bite and the flow and the rush… All he needed to do was let the blade touch his skin and to  _push._ That was all; so simple and easy, almost infuriatingly so… A moment of bliss, a moment of nirvana in exchange of a pale, fleshy scar that would never fade, that would always remind him of how fucking  _weak_ he was…

Suddenly, his heart seemed to be thrumming out of his chest, and his fingers were tightening around the blade in his hands.  He winced, hissing when the metal broke his skin and scarlet began to seep from the fine, thin lines now lacing his palm.  It wasn’t  _nice;_ it didn’t feel  _good,_ because Harry hadn’t inflicted them intentionally—he hadn’t controlled the action, he hadn’t influenced or initiated the cuts, he hadn’t held jurisdiction over his own body, and that was making all the difference—that was the very thing causing such a swirl of panic to course through his veins, causing the blood to trickle quicker and quicker from the slices in his skin.  

They burned, now, and only worsened when his fingers shot outward and he let the blade fall to the desk, sending another fine, sharp slice over the heel of his hand as he did so, and he hissed again.  It was…

 _Too, too much… Stop,_ he wanted to shout to the blade.   _Stop hurting me._ He couldn’t…he needed to…  _Anything…_ He needed something…Just needed someone to listen…

Suddenly, his phone was in his hand, and he wasn't quite sure how it had gotten there, but he was thankful because he needed to talk to someone, he needed to someone other than his blade and his blood to be there for him, to let him know that this was all real…

Out of habit, he found his fingers instinctively flying across the pad of numbers, and it was only when a groggy, gloomy voice answered on the other end that he realised he’d called Louis. Of  _course_ he’d called Louis. 

_Shit._

“Haz?” Louis asked, his voice small and hesitant as he answered the phone, and Harry’s heart leaped into his throat.  Yeah, he was afraid, and yeah, his relationship with Louis scared the absolute shit out of him, and  _yeah,_ maybe it would be his downfall, but in that moment he simply  _didn’t care,_ and why the hell was he  _here,_ and not there?

“Lou,” he replied, his voice breaking as he whispered, and he could hear Louis’s voice catching on the other end of the line. 

“Harry, what in the name of…I…You left! You...” he seemed to struggle for words, sounding both relieved and furious, and Harry bit his lip because he didn’t want Louis to hate him for this, not  _him…_ “Do you know how worried I’ve been?” Louis said shrilly, and when Harry heard the click of a door and the echo of his voice, he realised Louis must have shut himself in the bathroom, or the kitchen. “Why would you leave like that?  I know I fucked things up yesterday, but you still shouldn’t have—Harry?” Louis whispered, suddenly sounding quite afraid, for Harry had began to sob quietly into his hands, the noise reaching the receiver and Louis’s ears, so many miles away…

“Harry, are you okay?  What’s going on?” Louis asked, his voice rising with panic, and Harry could only sniffle.  “Harry Styles, talk to me, or I swear to God I’m taking the first train down there…”

“Just tell me,” Harry whimpered, voice muffled slightly by his bleeding fingers, stinging from the salt of his tears, “Tell me that everything will be okay…”

Silence fell for a long moment, and Harry couldn’t be sure what was happening.  Maybe Louis had dropped the call, lost the signal; maybe he’d hung up; maybe he was simply speechless…

“Oh, Haz,” he finally whispered, letting the anger and the anxiety seep from his voice as he sighed.  “Harry… Oh, Harry.”

“Please, just tell me?” Harry asked, sniffling and dragging his knuckles across his eyes, because he  _needed_ to hear it; he needed someone to say that things wouldn’t always be like this, that things were good.  “Please say it? I just need to hear it, I need you to...to tell me.”

“Harry,” Louis said quietly.  “I can’t make that promise…” He hesitated, as if biting his tongue on the other end.  “But I’ll sure as hell try.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered, dabbing at his slick cheeks, feeling increasingly humiliated as Louis listened to him snivel and cry like a child… But that promise, Louis's guarantee to him to  _try-_ and to try for Harry, of all people...That meant more than anything.  "Thank you," he added, wishing he could convey through the phone just how important that was to him...

“Haz,” Louis continued sadly.  “In return, can I ask  _you_ something?”

“Yeah,” Harry croaked, struggling to pull himself together.  “Anything, Lou.”  Louis paused before speaking, his voice sounding smaller and more child-like than every as he did so.

“Can you come home?”

 

❡❡❡

 

The next day, Harry had come a long way from where he'd been when he arrived on his family's doorstep the previous morning.  

He felt better.  He felt safer, knowing at least one of his family members would always be there for him, always love him - even if they may not have been completely in love with the idea of his homosexuality - because really, that was all that mattered.  His mother's acceptance meant more than  _anything_ to him.

Telling Gemma had been different.  He hadn't wanted to, at first.  He'd hoped to keep this quiet, to himself and to his mother, for as long as he could before questions began to come up, but Gemma's eyes hadn't left him all day and night, and his mother wasn't being helpful either - Giggling to herself whenever Harry's neighbors, Michael and David, were mentioned, or when she spotted a publicly outted celebrity in a magazine ("Look, Harry, it's Neil Patrick Harris!  Isn't that  _fascinating?_ ").  

Well, inevitably, Gemma's suspicions began to get the better of Harry, and just as he finished packing his bag before returning to London, he had knocked on her door, cheeks pale and lip chewed.

Gemma, playing with her phone at the time, had grunted in response when he asked her to talk, and as he mumbled the words, " _I'm gay,"_ she hadn't so much as blinked.  A long moment of silence had passed before she finally glanced towards him, looking so bored as if she were watching a history programme on television, and said,  _"No shit, Sherlock.  Why do you think I was teasing you so horribly at dinner?"_

And that was that.

Now, as he slid his pillow neatly beneath the loops of his bag and lifted it from the bed, he cast one last look around at the familiar room, and he was not surprised to realise he wouldn't miss the place at all. Humming quietly under his breath and feeling a bit lighter than he had in months, he hugged his mother as tightly as he could before he'd need to leave again, even though he knew he'd been seeing her soon again, when the show ended.  All she could do was hold tight, sighing wistfully as he murmured  _thank you_ 's in her ear, and peck him tearfully on the cheek, telling him she was proud of him.

He'd never forget those words, not a million years.  

He hugged Gemma and his stepfather, his gut churning when Robin clapped him on the back with a " _Be nice to those girls, Harry,"_ and set his bag in his arms.

"Ready to go?" a familiar voice called from the yard, and Harry peered through the screen door to see Greg sticking his head out of the window of the silver SUV, waving to him.  

"Yeah, I think," Harry called, waving in reply.

"I'll miss you.  Be good, now," Anne smiled, tapping him playfully on the shoulder, and Harry blushed, rolling his eyes.  

 "Wait," he mumbled under his breath, eyes widening as he remembered what he'd been planning to do before he left.  "Got to do one thing."

Before his mother could ask what he was up to, he jumped from her confused arms and hurried upstairs, tongue between his teeth. Feeling slightly giddy, he barreled towards his nighstand, and suddenly, everyone of the deep, significant tallies he'd carved in the past was staring him in the face, each representing a day he'd been strong, a day he'd denied the cut of the blade.

 _Look how far you came,_  the said.   _No cuts, no hatred...Look at what we symboli_ _se._

Without hesitating, Harry snatched a dusty pencil from the drawer of the stand and, a small, hesitant smile curving his parted lips, he began to scratch another line into the wood.

That was a little thing he liked to call hope.

 

❡❡❡

 

When Harry arrived back at the X House three hours later, night had long since fallen.  The soft streaks of morning had even begun to coat the pale sky, smatterings of pink and orange colouring the black.  Harry might have regretted being up so late, what with rehearsals approaching the next day, but frankly, he was too tired to think about anything much right now, other than the fact that  _Louis_ was in that house.

Niall was in there, probably lurching awake and reaching groggily for a spare blanket or for a pack of fruitsnacks.  Zayn was in there as well, snoring into the night like a bloody chainsaw.  Liam would be sleeping in his bunk, thrashing about and making as much noise as one possibly can with a pair of limbs and a few planks of wood.  But  _Louis._ Louis was in there, and Harry was right  _here,_ and that just wasn't right.  Why had he ever left in the first place?

His lips smacked sleepily as he stumbled across the threshold of the mansion, shoes scuffing on the rubber frame, and Greg tutted affectionately before shutting the door behind him and mumbling a soft, "Up to bed now, you've got a busy day tomorrow," and Harry could do nothing but obey.

He tripped twice on the way up the stairs, not bothering to open his eyes as he stumbled into the familiar bedroom of the band, and he might have made an effort to wriggle into Louis's arms or to say goodnight to the other boys, but before he knew it, he'd worked his way up the ladder to his bunk  and had passed out, sprawled-legged, upon the sheets.

Harry only opened his eyes hours later to blurry, fuzzy darkness, not quite knowing where he was or what was going on in his sleepy state. All he knew was that he was warm, he was tired, and that someone was lying next to him. When he felt a pair if warm, vulnerable arms slide around his waist, tugging him into their cozy chest and heard that sweet voice, he was left with no clues as to it was.  

"Don't you ever leave me like that again," Louis murmured into the dip of his neck, and all Harry could say before he drifted back to sleep was, "Okay."

 


	21. This

❡❡❡

 

An unspoken agreement had settled between Harry and Louis.  Louis wouldn’t press Harry or interrogate him about why he'd skipped off to Cheshire, and he wouldn’t mention the kiss just as long as Harry didn’t shut him out once more; as long as he didn’t ignore him again.  Frankly, it was a frustrating situation for Louis, not knowing what was going through his best friend’s head, but as long as he had his Harry back, he’d pay any price. 

Well,  _kind of._ Harry hadn’t been the same since he’d began to avoid Louis, and Louis wasn’t all that shocked when his behaviour didn’t suddenly undergo a one hundred eighty-degree change.  He still blushed whenever Louis stroked his curls or hugged him close; he still turned his gaze, lashes fluttering, whenever Louis caught his eye; he still seemed stiff and scared whenever Louis tugged him gently into his bunk and burrowed into his chest before falling asleep. 

To be fair, Harry wasn’t the only one behaving oddly.  Louis’s feelings had begun to act up as well.  Waiting for Harry to join him in bed or waiting for him to come down to breakfast had become important, frighteningly nerve-wracking events, and Louis found himself growing oddly nervous whenever he heard the soft, familiar scuff of Harry’s feet down the corridor.  

It was a  _different_ kind of nervous he would feel; the kind of nerves one experiences before riding a roller coaster, or meeting a celebrity.  It was weird; interacting with Harry had not only begun to grow unstable, but into quite a big deal as well.  Louis could still relax in his presence and laugh whenever Harry’s nose wrinkled the way it did, but those little things were mattering more and more to him.  

He noticed that he’d begun to think of very foolish things in Harry’s company.   _Oh God, am I laughing too loudly? What if I’m bothering him? Does he think it’s weird that I wear my collar like this?  What if he does, oh no…_ But then, all he’d need to do was look back into Harry’s face, and the way he would be smiling at Louis would remind him that he could never bother Harry, that he never needed to worry about anything as long as he was there. 

Louis wasn’t sure how he felt about this change in dynamic.  He wasn’t sure if he liked the thick silences or the uncertain flutter of eyelashes.  He wasn’t sure how he felt about the blushing cheeks and shy smiles.  

Some nights, while lying in bed and gazing up at the wooden underside of his bunk, his head would flood with regret and he’d think about what on earth he’d done wrong to mess up their relationship.  But then, Harry would tiptoe into the bedroom, stand by Louis’s bedside shyly, as if asking for permission, and let his arms wrap around Lou’s waist—and then, Louis would remember that any relationship with Harry was bound to be flawless.  It was only when he was with Harry—talking to him, laughing with him, holding him—that anything about their relationship ever seemed to make sense.  He’d wonder why things had been so complicated between them, so strenuous, but then, cradled to Harry’s chest, he’d think,  _This is worth it._ And it was.  It really was.

One thing, however, that had never seemed to relent its tugging on Louis’s mind, was that  _damned kiss._

He still couldn’t figure out for the life of him where  _that_ had come from, and he couldn’t figure out how to deal with it now.  It was clear that Harry didn’t want to talk about it—anytime Louis so much as mumbled the  _K_ word, Harry’s eyes would grow to the size of dinner plates and his cheeks would turn the colour of a fire hydrant, and Louis would take the hint that, in all likelihood, the kiss had been an unpleasant experience for Harry.

He couldn’t pinpoint  _why,_ but for some reason, that kind of hurt.

In any case, it had definitely changed things.  Louis had always thought Harry was a very lovely person.  Anyone could see that.  His thoughts whenever he caught sight of the boy ranged from jealousy—wishing he looked the way Harry did—and pride—thinking,  _That’s my Harry, that’s_ my  _best friend._

But  _now,_ after that bloody kiss, his eyes would travel Harry’s face, and he wouldn’t simply think,  _Oh, he’s quite lovely._ No; his gaze would stop on his lips, and as his eyes widened and his stomach fluttered, he would think,  _I kissed those lips._ He’d remember that they were long and thin and warm and soft so much more different from a girl’s. 

And then, he’d feel a different sort of pride.  

 

❡❡❡

 

This was a special week for the contestants. 

Poor Mary had been sent home on Sunday night, to everyone's dejection, and this left them with only four acts in the competition.

_"Four,_ " Liam emphasized, eyes wide and lips parted as he gaped up at the bulletin board sitting against the kitchen wall, the bulletin board that contained special dates and announcements int he competition.  _"_ Final  _four._ There are  _four_ of us left, lads; four out of seventy-two  _thousand._ I...I just..."

"You've earned it, love," Zoe beamed fondly as she rumpled Liam's bedhead and set a plate of tomato on the table.  Liam could only blink, still gaping as he slid the roasted red slices between his lips.  

"Watch it, Li, flies like tomatoes.  You'll have a mouthful if you don't shut your trap," Louis warned as he scooted into the kitchen, running his fingers sassily through his hair, and Harry bounded into the room behind him with a laugh, looking like a doting puppy as his curls bounced.  

"Mm, smells good, Zo," Zayn noted as he sidled into the kitchen, wet hair dripping across his forehead, and he grinned and swerved out of the way when Liam made to ruffle the damp locks.  

"Help yourselves, loves, I'm not cooking for twenty-eight anymore," Zoe sighed happily, scooping a tomato of her own onto a plate.  "Besides, you'll need the calories.  Busy week for you lot looking ahead."

"Really?" Zayn asked, interested.  "What's going on?" Zoe looked up, as if Zayn were mental.

"Are you off your rocker?  Have you forgotten?" She asked, incredulous.

"Forgotten what?" Zayn said stupidly, and Harry and Liam exchanged exasperated looks.

"Don't mind him, Zo, he's just woken up," Liam grinned affectionately, this time managing to run his fingers through Zayn's damp hair, and Zayn yelped.

"Celebrity duets this week," Harry said eagerly, positively bouncing on his toes as he wriggled across the floor to scoop his own slice of tomato into his mouth.

"Oh, yeah," Zayn said, smiling slowly.  "Can you believe that, then?  We're actually going to sing with Robbie Williams." He blinked, looking dazed for a moment, before reiterating, " _Robbie Williams._ " 

"Oh, don't start," Liam warned him with a groan, casting a wary glance in Louis's direction, but it was too late; the Doncaster boy had already begun to hum with energy.

"Robbie Williams, going to sing with Robbie Williams," Louis muttered to himself, a silly smile on his lips as he darted about the kitchen, too eager to stand still.  "Robbie Williams!  My lifelong idol...Going to sing with Robbie, and with Zayn, and with Liam, and with Niall, and with my Harry..." No one missed the red of Harry's cheeks or the leer on Niall's face. Zoe chuckled, winking towards Harry and sending the other four exasperated smiles before scooting out the door with a tray of dishes.  

"Oi!" Matt's voice beckoned them from the common room.  "C'mon, you lot, we've got to be there in ten minutes."

"Where are we going?" Liam asked through a mouthful of egg, and Harry glanced up in interest. 

"Didn't Greg tell you?" Matt asked, sticking his head through the door, and the five of them shook their heads.  "We're meeting the duet artists at a recording studio in Bexley. Gonna start our finalist charity singles as well, I think."

"Cool," Zayn grinned, suddenly wide awake as he wriggled into a jacket and sprinted through the kitchen after Matt.  Liam, eyes bright, beckoned for the other three to follow as he grabbed a toothbrush from the counter and hurried through the door.  

"C'mon, we're going to meet Robbie Williams!" Louis screeched, causing Harry and Niall to clap hands over their ears, and with that he wrapped his fingers around their wrists and began tugging them after the other three.  

"Ouch!" Harry hissed with Niall as they were whipped through the door way.  "Okay, who didn't give Louis his sedatives this morning?"  Louis took the time to turn and stick his tongue childishly out at Harry, who grinned, and bit his lip while he was dragged out of the garage and towards the humming SUV. They clambered inside, and Harry found himself just a little bit relieved when the back was full and he had to take shotgun beside Greg.  A car ride free of touching knees and blushing cheeks; now  _that_ was definitely for the better.  

The recording studio was quite a distance away, but the contestants couldn't stop bouncing with excitement when they finally pulled into the carpark, each grinning and going red in the face with nerves.

When they stepped out of the van, Harry looked up to realise that this was no Taj Mahal.  For some reason, he supposed he was expecting something a little more... _extravagant_ to serve as location for world-famous artists to make their music; but honestly, the studio was nothing more than a large, flat building the size of a couple of football pitches and covered in a dull, red brick. The windows were tinted a dismal gray, and the walk was chipped and crumbling beneath their feet. It didn't seem like a place for people like Robbie Williams and Emeli Sande.  

He stepped inside, and to his mild surprise the interior was no more exciting than the boring brick.  Neat, pale wood lined the floors, and a large front desk was situated in what must have been the lobby. The walls were a warm buttercream, and a plant and an old loveseat sat to the right.

"Not much, is it?" Zayn murmured in his ear, and Harry shook his head, pursing his lips.  And yet, as a tired-looking man wearing a headset and a badge walked across the hallway pushing a trolley of microphones and recording equipment, he found an eager grin splitting across his face.  Dull brick of not; this was bloody  _cool._

Greg spoke with one of the women behind the desk, taking a couple of minutes to offer his indetification and to run through a sheet of paperwork, before the woman ushered them reluctantly forward, and the group began to follow Greg down the corridor.

As the group herded past a large, dim recording room, Harry peered through the tinted plexi-glass, looking curiously into the area.  He barely had time to assess the room's contents before he was pushed forward, spotting two women and a man sitting before a panel of controls and a lightboard, looking into a second room where a strangely familiar man sat upon a stool, adjusting the headphones clamped over his head of ginger hair...

He frowned, eyes widening slightly as he struggled to take a closer look, but Niall bopped him eagerly out of the way as he bounced down the hallway, eyes bright and mouth grinning, and Harry was tugged down the corridor.  Still, he couldn't shake the image of that familiar red hair.

"That man recording in there; was that-" he began to ask, but as Greg hollered for them to take a right at the end of the hallway, he was interrupted.  

The group filed through a tall door and into what appeared to be a large rehearsal studio, not much different from the studios the contestants had been working in for the past couple of months.  A row of mirrors covered the wall across from the door, mounted by a double ballet barre.  A ridiculously exuberant stereo at least a stall as Harry was sat apart from the mirrors, its numerous chords trailing and tangling in every which way on their way to an outlet.  Two large drum sets sat in the corner of the room, one smaller than the other and one with many more pedals, and an extensive shelf lined the eastern wall, stocked heavily with what looked like a wide variety of instruments- acoustic guitars, electric guitars, bass guitars, ukuleles, collapsible keyboards, flutes, saxophones, violins, lap-harps...

All right, so maybe it  _wasn't_ quite like their own rehearsal studio.

Eight other people already occupied the room.  Two of them, a young man and an older women, looked busy and tired as they moved slowly across the shelves of instruments, tuning each and every piece one by one with an electric tuner and a set of keys.  One of them, a man in shorts and a tee-shirt, was stretching silently on the barre, one foot rested on the wood and his other rooted firmly to a yoga mat.  The other, a young woman Rebecca's age, sat at a small table, looking frustrated as she erased small notes from blank sheet music. The other four people were Simon, Cheryl, Louis, and Dani, all seated in a small circle in folding chairs and engaged in discussion.

Harry couldn't wipe the grin from his face.  Just looking around at the room, thinking how bloody  _c_ _ool_ this was, just... It may have been a rather dull and tiring scene to encompass, but the idea of working in this room - strumming guitars, writing music, maybe stretching before a performance - was one amazing thought.  He was itching to sit at the drum set, to get his hands on those microphones sitting neatly in little rows upon the stereo...

"Is this where, like... _artists_ work?" Niall breathed, eyes wide and parted lips set in an eager smile as they ran across the room, and Simon chuckled as he rose from his seat.

"This is where a lot of the rehearsing is done, yes," he smiled, looking a little small in the big room.  "Obviously nothing special, but this is how it's done. This is actually one of the nicer studios, as far as recording studios go.  Hope you weren't expecting cocktail bars and red carpets?" he asked, eyebrows raised as he cocked his head.

"This is brilliant," Louis grinned, and Simon chuckled, stuffing his hands into his front pockets.  

"It's usually not this full," Cheryl noted, lowering her voice as the group lurked in the corner, watching the other four people working in the studio.  "Under normal circumstances, each artist works individually in a reserved studio.  But it's a busy day today, and there's no necessity for primary rehearsals."  

"You mean there's more than one of these rooms?" Cher asked eagerly, and Cheryl nodded. 

"Oh, definitely.  I think there are...Oh, what's the number, Simon?  Eighteen other rehearsal rooms here?"

"And they all have the same instruments? The same equipment?" Matt asked, jaw gaping and eyes round as he eyed the room.  

"Well, to some degree," Dani smiled dryly.  "Naturally, some studios will be dedicated to specific things- choreography, instrumentals, voice... Some people need more assistance in certain fields."

"Are you making fun of my dancing again?" A voice spoke from behind them, and Harry turned on the spot to see -  _No way...._

Robbie Williams was standing two feet away from them.  Bright smile, white teeth, tall frame...  _No way, no way, no way..._

"Glad you could be here," Louis Walsch smiled as he shook Robbie Williams' hand.  Meanwhile, Harry's face seemed to have turned to stone. This was a man he'd watched on television and had seen on the cover of his CD cases.  This was a man he'd always looked up to, aways dreamed of meeting; rehearsing conversations and dialogues in his head... Well.  Those mused  _conversations_ were suddenly forgotten.

"Glad also.  Good to see you, Louis, grand.  And you, Mister Bigshot," he grinned, nodding playfully towards Simon, who rolled his eyes.  "And this," Robbie asked, turning curiously towards the contestants, who all seemed to buzz with excitement.  "These are the stars of the show, are they?"

"Right you are," Cheryl smiled fondly towards the competitors.  "These are my acts, Rebecca Ferguson and Cher Lloyd, and this is Matt Cardle.  He's with Dani.  And then, these are the boys we've been telling you about," she gestured eagerly towards One Direction, and when Robbie's face brightened knowingly, Harry and Zayn exchanged stunned glances. 

"Nice to meet you all," Robbie smiled, shaking hands with each of the contestants.  "'M Robbie," he added towards the five boys."

"I'm Liam," Liam blinked shyly, lips bitten and cheeks flushed, and Robbie nodded.  

"Zayn. 'M Zayn," Zayn croaked, clearing his throat several times.  

Harry and Niall introduced themselves, both stuttering and bashful, before Robbie finally turned to Louis, who seemed to have contracted a sudden case of lockjaw.  He didn't say hello or introduce himself; he could only blink, eyes wide and cheeks pale, as he gaped up towards the celebrity, and Harry snorted into his hand.

"You must be Louis, then," Robbie said kindly, looking slightly amused.  "I hear you're quite the  _Take That_ fan, yeah?" 

"He's got a shrine in his closet," Liam sighed explanatorily, and Robbie smiled considerably, eyebrows rising.  

"Excuse me," A polite, feminine voice sounded from behind Robbie's tall frame, and when he turned, Harry spotted none other than  _Rihanna._ Jesus Christ...

"Wow.  Erm, hello," Robbie said, eyes wide and face impressed as he shook the woman's hand.  Matt blundered clumsily through the wall of boys, looking excited beyond belief, and it was then that Harry remembered that Rihanna was Matt's celebrity duet partner.  He'd forgotten that Robbie would not be the only artist they'd be meeting.

"Come 'ere, lads," Cheryl said, herding the boys over to one of the tables sitting near the western wall, and the six of them - the five lads and Robbie - slid into foldable chairs while Matt melted into a puddle of nerves at Rihanna's feet.  

 

❡❡❡

 

Working with Robbie Williams was incredible.

Not only did the man appear to be a musical prodigy, but he was also witty, humorous, and quite easy-going.  It had always been just a little bit difficult to work with Simon, due to his intensity and uptightness, but Robbie seemed to lack this obstacle, and it made the performance rehearsals not only productive, but really, really  _fun._

"Who taught you to dance, a duck?" the man teased with a grin as they went through the choreography.  Harry and Liam exchanged bright glances, knowing that the other was having the time of their lives.

"Like you can talk," Niall scoffed gleefully, and Robbie put a hand on his hip in mock anger.  That was the thing about working with him; it was so easy to joke around with him but also to get stuff done.  They'd come a long way in one hour.   Well...Until Robbie began to whine about solos.

"I'm  _not_ taking a solo," he was insisting stubbornly as Simon shoved the clipboard under his nose.  "I get solos  _every single time_ I'm on stage.  I've sung this song a million times and everyone has heard me.  No one's heard these lads sing!  You don't make  _sense,_ " he scowled, pointing childishly towards Simon, who was looking quite frustrated.  The five boys muffled their snickers behind their hands.

"You're the  _celebrity_ artist," Simon sighed for the fourth time.  "You're half the duet.  You're  _supposed_ to sing."

"But so are they! How come none of these lads are getting solos?" he positively pouted, and Harry grinned with amusement. 

"They've been singing every week," Simon growled, looking exhausted.  "This week is different because this time, you're singing with them."

"Great, we'll all sing together, then." Robbie smiled, clapping his hands and leaning back in his chair.  

"No," Simon groaned, looking quite ready to tear his hair out, and Niall giggled behind his hands. "Jesus Christ, Rob, you make  _Louis_ look mature."

Well, he'd said quite the wrong thing.  Louis's jaw dropped and his eyes popped as he gaped at Simon, and Harry smiled into his palm.

"Excuse me?" Louis asked, eyes wide, and Simon sighed, laying his head in his hands.  "I am the opposite of  _mature._ I am  _immature._ I am a  _child._ I am not an  _adult._ I an young, and I am never getting old.  Ever! Understand?" He shrieked, and before the distressed Simon could answer, Louis had launched from his chair, grabbed the red pen sitting on the table and slid it into his hair in the imitation of a red feather, and begun to whir around the room, aggressively asking the innocent artists and the other contestants if he was mature or not.  

Some, like Cher and Dani, had the good sense to assure him that  _No,_ he was most definitely  _not_ mature; but others like Rihanna and the other two celebrity guests tried to be polite and tell him that of  _course_ he was mature, and that set him off on a whole other level.

Louis, face scrunched in a severe pout, whirred out the door like a chipmunk on ecstasy, and at a surprised,  _"Ouch! What the..."_ sounded from the hallway, the other could only assume he'd knocked someone over.

"Louis, bloody hell!" Simon gaped in frustration, eyes wide and tired as he rose from his chair, striding towards the hallway to help the poor attackee up.  "I'm sorry about that, Ed, are you all right?"

"Fine, thanks," a familiar voice said, still sounding slightly baffled as its owner entered the studio, and Harry's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as he caught sight of him.  Red hair, light skin, blue eyes- he  _knew_ who that that was.  Before he knew it, he'd clobbered to his feet, knocking over his chair and sending the table skidding a couple of inches across the floor as he did so, and Simon cast him an amused smirk.

"Heard the  _X Factor_ lot were in here, is that right?" the man asked interestedly, his quiet voice mellow as he looked around the room, and  _Jesus,_ Harry was standing ten feet away from Ed Sheeran.

"That's right," Simon nodded.  "We didn't know you were here; otherwise we wouldn't have bothered you.  Are you recording today?"

"Nah," Ed shook his head.  "Just got some songs to play for a couple of producers is all," and he waved a hefty stack of what looked like sloppily-scrawled sheet music in the air. 

"Well, don't be a stranger, come on in and meet the crew," Cheryl smiled, strolling forward and winking subtly towards Harry as she did so, who gulped.  First Joe, then Robbie, now  _Ed..._ this was becoming a bit too much.  

"Is Matt here?" Ed asked eagerly, looking around at the people in the room.  "Been voting for him every week, I have."

"Erm," Matt coughed, face red and eyes wide with excitement as he stumbled forward, and Ed grinned, clapping him on the back.

"Pleased to meet you; your performance of  _Nights in White Satin_  was spectacular." He smiled, and for a brief moment Harry worried that Matt was suffering some sort of aneurysm.  "Where's that other act, uh, One Connection?  One Direction? Is that it?"

"That's us," Liam grinned, eyes bright and cheeks warm as he toppled over his feet towards Ed.  "I...I'm Liam," he croaked, lips quivering.  "This is Z-Zayn, and Harry," he introduced, patting each boy blindly on the shoulder, and Harry blinked slowly, silently as Ed shook his hand with a smile.  "This..This is...Uh..." Liam gulped, looking suddenly quite overwhelmed as he turned blankly to Niall, whose jaw dropped in mock outrage.  

" _Niall,"_ Niall reminded him, pouting heavily.  "My name is  _Niall._ I  _live_ with you."

"R-right," Liam nodded.  "And..."

"That nutter who attacked you in the hallway was Louis," Niall grinned, bouncing up and down on his toes and clasping his hands happily behind his back.  As if he'd heard his name, Louis suddenly bowled eagerly between Harry and Zayn, looking slightly ashamed but still unhindered from the stern telling off he'd just received from Simon.  When he caught sight of the singer before them, his eyes lit up.

"Whoa, you're Ed Sheeran!  Lads, that's Ed Sheeran! Harry, you  _love_ him!" he exclaimed, grinning to Harry, who groaned and lay his red face in his hands while Ed laughed, abashed.  

"Love you lads too.  You're very good," he added politely, and Harry suddenly felt as if he were melting into the floor; because  _how on earth was this happening..._

 "Thanks," Zayn smiled shyly, and Liam looked like he was about to jump out of his shoes with giddy excitement.

"Y-you...You're..." Harry breathed, feeling quite light headed all of a sudden, and Niall grinned, clapping him on the back.  

"He's a big fan," he said to Ed, who blinked, looking flattered. 

"Can't imagine why," he joked, "But thanks, mate, means a lot," and he nodded to Harry, and  _Oh my God, Ed Sheeran was_ looking  _at him..._

"C'mon, you lot, you've got a lot of work to do.  Ed, we'll try to stay out of your way," Simon said courteously as he steered the five boys towards the mirror to rehearse the duet, and Ed smiled, making his way towards one of the tables to comb through his music.  

 "Whoa," Harry breathed to no one in particular.  "Those are his  _songs_ right there.  There could be dozens of albums worth of music in his hands, just waiting to be played and recorded..."

"Okay, Romeo, let's move," Zayn teased him, grinning fondly at his mate as he beckoned him towards the barre.  

The boys rehearsed the week's song,  _She's the One_ (a personal favourite of Harry's) for a good hour and a half until Robbie stormed childishly into the hallway, claiming that he was "fed up with this shit" and could really use a triple shot espresso.   While Simon looked furious, the five boys laughed as Robbie turned and offered them a subtle wink before leaving the studio.  

"Might as well break while he's out," Simon grumbled, eyebrows knitting angrily as he slapped the clipboard down on the table, frightening Ed slightly, and followed Robbie out of the room.  The boys exchanged amused glances before diffusing around the studio, Niall dragging Liam eagerly towards the snack cooler and Zayn leading Louis towards the shelf of records sitting beside the stereo.

Harry looked awkwardly around the room, lurching slightly on his toes as he struggled to think of something to do, before he caught sight of a pair of small blue eyes on him, and turned to see Ed waving sheepishly.  The blood flooded from Harry's cheeks as he swallowed and wiggled his fingers stiffly in return, suddenly not quite able to feel his feet.  Before he could stop himself, he was making his way across the smooth floor, legs carrying him towards the songwriter, and Ed grinned as Harry slid into the chair opposite his.

"Hi," Ed grinned lazily, and Harry somehow managed to force his twitching lips into something that looked a little bit like a smile. 

"'Lo," he mumbled, voice little more than a croak, and Ed pursed his lips, looking amused.  

"Please don't tell me  _I'm_ making you nervous," he asked hesitantly, and Harry could only  _"Ehm"_ uncomfortably.  Ed laughed, shaking his head dazedly as he leaned back in his chair.  "Trust me, mate, I'm nothing to get excited about.  I'm actually much more nervous to meet you lot!"

"Y-you are?" Harry asked, finally managing to find his voice.  Ed smiled.

"Course.  Have you heard yourself, mate?  You've got a voice I'd die for.  And that Liam kid, too...Jesus," he shook his head in disbelief.  "Real season, this is.  Got quite some talent this year."

"Yeah..." Harry breathed, barely to hear himself as he let his dazed eyes gaze around the room.  Ed was right; there were quite a lot of talented people in the room.  Rebecca - hell, he'd never heard a voice like hers; Matt seemed to be able to sing anything at the drop of a hat; Cher, for heaven's sakes, who the hell  _knew_ where talent like hers had ever been seen before; and then there was the band... "Yeah.  Not quite sure what I'm doing here." He added humbly, eyes on his lap, and Ed gawked.

"Are you kidding me?  You've got one of the most incredible voices here.  I'm feeling quite starstruck just to be in the presence of you lot," He chuckled, nodding towards Harry and the other contestants. 

"Yeah, well.  I suppose anyone would feel that way, being around people like Cher, and Liam, and Lou..." Harry sighed as he looked towards the Doncaster boy, who was sitting politely in a folding chair, for once quiet and still as Simon spoke to Zayn about one of his previous solos.  

"Louis? That nutter over there?" Ed chuckled, and Harry couldn't help the fond grin that broke across his face.  "I don't think I've heard him sing," Ed murmured thoughtfully, and suddenly Harry was frowning again.

"No," he sighed, bending to lift a water bottle from beneath the table and take a long swig.  "Apparently everyone here is too bloody stupid to recognise a good voice when they hear one, and it's horrible, because Louis's voice is  _beautiful,_ and everyone deserves to hear it and to appreciate it, and..."

"Blimey, calm down, mate," Ed mused, quiet laughter in his eyes as he leaned forward to put a gentle hand on Harry's arm, and suddenly Harry was torn between aggravation over Louis's lack of limelight and overwhelming disbelief, because  _bloody hell,_ Ed Sheeran was touching him, patting his hand.  

"Sorry," Harry muttered shakily with a nervous smile.  "Got a little defensive there.  It's just..." he ran his hand through his hair while Ed waited with curious interest.  "We've all gotten so many solos, and Louis's got such a gift...It's not fair for him, really."

Ed was quiet for moment, thinking, before he spoke again.

"This is why I've always liked to wonder about life in a band," he said considerately, pursing his lips.  "Working individually...It gets lonely, you know?  And I know I produce better independently, but sometimes I think about having other people there to support me.  Like you do for Louis," he offered, nodding politely for Harry, who smiled grudgingly.

"It's great," he admitted.  "Having thr- Erm,  _four_ friends always there for you.  Gives you a lot more room for error, but that might just cause laziness, I dunno," he shrugged, and Ed laughed, which left Harry feeling quite hot around the collar.  

"Consider yourself lucky, mate," Ed smiled, eying the other four boys in the room.  "They seem like good lads."

"They are," Harry nodded, lips turning upwards, because Ed was spot-on - He couldn't begin to fathom his luck.  The two fell silent for a long moment, Ed happily watching the bustle of the big rehearsal room and Harry sipping from his water bottle, until Ed voiced a question that had Harry nearly leaping out of his chair.

“So, how long have you and Louis been together?” 

Well, he might as well have just declared that he had an extra foot; the reaction induced from Harry was  _ridiculous._ Eyes wide, a horrible sound fell from his throat as he spluttered over the bottle of water in his lips, and Ed’s jaw dropped in surprise as Harry began to choke.

“Jesus Christ, you okay, mate?” he asked, bewildered as he grabbed the bottle from Harry’s hand and began slamming the heel of his hand into Harry’s back.  Harry coughed unattractively for a solid minute before dragging the back of sleeve across his mouth and sitting upright in his chair.

“Uh,” he breathed, eyes still round.  “Y-yeah.  Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Ed shrugged, eyes still glazed with concern.  “Listen, my apologies if I offended you or anything.  I just thought…”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry shook his head, coughing one last time before sighing shakily.  “It’s just…Well, we’re not together.” He stated slowly. Ed only frowned, eyebrows rising skeptically as he laughed.

“Sure, mate.  If you like to keep it confidential, I  _get_ it, I do.  Just wondering.”

“I’m not kidding,” Harry admitted, half shy and half humiliated.  “We’re not together.  He’s…He’s not interested.  I don’t think he swings that way.” Ed could only blink in response, eyes wide and lips rounding around air. 

“Are…are you  _sure?_ ” he asked intently, face positively riddled with confusion as he peered back and forth between Harry and Louis.  “I mean, you’ve  _got_ to be together.  You look more in love than a lot of  _spouses_ I know.”

“I beg your pardon?” Harry asked, beginning to choke on his own surprise once more, and as his cheeks morphed into a deep shade of ruby, realisation slowly dawned on Ed’s face.

“Oh,” he breathed softly, a sympathetic smile crawling onto his lips as he relaxed in his chair and lowered his voice.  “I see.  You’re interested in one another, but you’re not official yet.”

“No,” Harry corrected, not quite sure  _where_ on earth Ed was getting these mad delusions.  Well, he deserved half-credit, at least. “Like I said, he’s…He doesn’t want that.”  Ed was quiet, simply staring at Harry and letting his eyes roam over his face.  Harry supposed he should have felt uncomfortable, but the singer possessed a laid-back, relaxed aura that only made him feel a little sleepy. 

“You’re not joking, are you?” Ed finally asked, blinking seriously, and Harry shook his head, wondering why Ed would have ever thought otherwise.  The two fell silent; Harry taking hesitant sips of his water and Ed casting calm, observant glances between he and Louis, who was still bouncing around in the corner and gawking over the recording equipment. “You know, things may not be quite as you think,” Ed said after what felt like several moments, his tone conversational and quiet as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles politely.  Harry frowned.

“What d’you mean?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing. 

“You have eyes, don’t you?” Ed teased him, although his gaze was soft.  “Have you been watching him since you met?  He can’t stop staring at you. Hell, he’s been sending me nasty looks ever since I sat down next to you.”

“You’re lying,” Harry shook his head, sighing.  He wished people like Ed and Niall would stop leading him on; stop convincing him that there was a future for him and Louis when there never would be.  “He…he doesn’t feel the way I… He’s not like that.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Ed smiled, cradling his beer between his knees as he watched Louis with interest.  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” He sent Harry a comforting grin, and Harry returned it hesitantly, not quite sure where Ed was going with this.  Ed extended a hand, patting him unnecessarily on the shoulder, all the while keeping his eyes on Louis. “See?” Ed murmured, jerking his head slightly in Lou’s direction.

“See what?” Harry whispered in reply, letting his eyes follow Ed’s gaze.  Sure enough, he felt a flicker of familiar eyes, hazel today, and turned to catch Louis’s gaze trained on him, his face anxious but smiling.  Harry bit his lip shyly, offering a grin and the small wiggle of his fingers, and Louis laughed from across the room.  Harry turned bashfully back to Ed, and he and the ginger man exchanged sheepish smiles.  When Harry turned back , he realised that Louis wasn’t smiling anymore.

Harry shook his head, knowing that his change in mood had absolutely nothing to do with him.  He wasn’t sure why on earth anyone else would think so.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Harry,” Ed said quietly.  “You really don’t think he’d ever be interested, do you?”

“I know he won’t be,” Harry replied without hesitation.   _That_  he was sure of.  Ed only chuckled, casting an amused glance towards Louis and a sympathetic titter towards Harry before taking a long swig of his beer. 

“You know,” Ed said interestedly, leaning towards Harry.  “I haven’t seen such chemistry between two people in…Well, quite a long time.  Don’t let it get away, all right?  Or you’ll be writing songs like mine.” Harry could only chuckle, not quite believing that he was receiving romantic advice from none other than Ed Sheeran.  He was still having a bit of difficulty getting over it.

“Everyone keeps saying that,” he admitted, sighing and running a hand through his curls.  “Everyone thinks that, for some reason, he likes me back.”

“Ah, don’t brush aside their opinions so quickly,” Ed advised with a knowing smile, and Harry could only blink thoughtfully.  “They may be seeing things more clearly than you are.  On the other hand, I know where you’re coming from, Harry, I really do, and I know it’s no picnic.” Harry bit his lip, his heart beginning to stutter a little more quickly in his chest.  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he fixated his gaze on the floor.

“It’s just…difficult,” he began quietly, speaking maybe for the first time about how  _he_ was feeling about all of this.  “Knowing who’s got your heart, but also knowing that you’ll never have theirs in return.”  Ed was quiet for a moment before he answered.

“You know,” Ed said, curious as he cocked his head and inspected Louis from across the room.  “The way he behaves around you…I think the two of you are both a little clueless at the mo’.  No offense mate,” he added hastily, and Harry smiled, shrugging.

“What’re you saying?” Harry asked hesitantly, not sure if he wanted to give himself any false hope.

“What I’m saying,” Ed said quietly.  “Is that sometimes, all it takes is a little encouragement.”

Harry only frowned, not quite knowing where Ed was going with this, but as Ed’s eyes twinkled and his lip curved knowingly, he stooped to retrieve something from his bag.  He rose to his feet, and as he did so, he slid a thick sheath of papers into Harry’s hand.  

"I was planning on putting that on my new album next year," Ed murmured.  "But I think you'll be able to put it o good use."  Completely bewildered, Harry could only gape, his mouth hanging open stupidly.  "Good luck," Ed laughed with a wink before heading out of the studio.

Harry looked down.  In his hands was a stack of what was unmistakably sheet music.  Harry looked up in surprise, watching as Ed strolled casually away and towards the piano, sending a jaunty wink towards Harry as he went.  Looking back down at the jumble of lyrics and notes clutched between his palms, Harry blinked.

Ed had given him a song.

 

❡❡❡

  
Harry couldn’t quite believe he was going to do this.  

He had half a mind—more like three-quarters of a mind—to botch the plan entirely and simply drown himself in pink pills for the rest of his life, maybe some cats and cooking too.  But as Niall gave him a gentle push, his hand planted on the small of Harry’s back, he realised that there was no backing out.  Not now, anyways—not now that Match-Maker Niall was in on this.  He’d crossed some sort of irreversible path.

“It’s okay,” Niall whispered, standing on his toes to speak in his ear and clap Harry comfortingly on the shoulder.  “Just like we practiced, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, his voice trembling slightly as he thought of what he was about to do.  He wondered if this was one of those pivotal moments in life; if this was a moment he would look back on later in life and wish that he’d acted differently.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Niall sang sternly.  “No backing out.  Soon enough, you’ll be on your hands and knees, thanking Ed.”

“R-Right,” Harry stuttered, forcing a false smile to his lips, and Niall grinned, already bouncing with excitement as he whirred through the room. 

“Oh, there he is!” Niall gasped eagerly, smooshing his face against the window of the common room as he watched a Honda pull into the front drive.  Harry’s stomach swooped with nerves, and his heart only stuttered more quickly in his chest.  He should turn back…It would be a very smart thing to change his mind before it was too late… But then Niall was wriggling across the carpet like a puppy greeting his master, and before Harry knew it, he was dragging him into the common room. 

“Hey, Lou,” Cher greeted him a with a smile and wave from the sofa, but Louis only had eyes for Harry.

“Harry!” He screeched happily, skidding forward across the carpet to fold Harry into his arms.  “How’re you, Cher?” he added happily, and Cher only chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

“H-Hey,” Harry said, his lips moving against the locks tickling Louis’s ear.  He didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous to see him before.  Louis picked up on this immediately, and he went still in Harry’s arms.

“You all right?” he asked gently, retracting slightly to peer into his face.  “Why’ve you got Niall’s guitar?” he added, eyebrows furrowing as he spotted the instrument clutched in Harry’s clammy palm. 

“I just…” Harry began, his voice now trembling audibly, and Louis’s face pinched with concern.  “I need to talk to you…alone.”  He pretended not to notice the eager grins exchanged by Cher and Niall, and he nervously stepped out of Louis’s arms before turning and walking into the empty kitchen.

"Haz, what's going on?  Everything okay?" Louis asked anxiously, leaning back against the cool marble of the countertop and crossing his arms seriously over his chest, the thick fabric of his sweater crinkling at the gesture.   He peered worriedly up at Harry, his hazel eyes glinting in the white, fluorescent light in the room as his teeth gently grabbed his rosy pink lip.  

Harry blinked slowly as he took in the beauty of the boy standing before him, his own green eyes roaming over the feint trace of tawny stubble shadowing his chin and jaw, over the flawless way his lush, feathery hair tousled about his head, so effortless and lazy, yet so gorgeous.  He was perfection, in the flesh.  Harry was absolutely mad for thinking Louis would ever want him in return.

"Harry, you all right, mate?" Louis asked uncertainly as he frowned, waving his hand across Harry's vision, and Harry swallowed nervously, a sheepish smile crossing his face.  

"Erm, yeah, fine," he croaked.  He wasn't sure he could do this.    _You promised,_ a harsh voice urged him from the back of his head, pounding into his mind.  He  _had_  promised.  He had promised Niall, his best friend, hadn't he?  But that wasn't what was driving him to fulfil that vow.  He was going to do this because he had promised  _himself;_ had promised Louis.    _All for you, Lou,_ He thought, a nervous sweat breaking over the acne-ridden skin of his forehead.  _Hope it’s worth it._   

"Harry, are you sure you're okay?" Louis pressed, his hazel eyes darting over the tremble of Harry's fingers and the panicked glare in his eyes.  Of course he wasn't.  Harry was far from "okay," but this  _had_  to happen.  Louis needed to know.  Harry needed him to realise... 

"I want to give you something," he whispered, his voice vanishing to a whir, and, heart thrumming gently in his chest, he turned his back on the boy and reached for the sleek guitar sitting across the cushions of the dining chairs, wrapping his long, slender fingers around its neck, the worn, stiff strings biting into his clammy skin.  

His fingers, damp with perspiration, were slick against the warm wood as he lifted the instrument into his arms, awkwardly tangling the wide strap around his lanky neck and shifting the guitar's position slightly.   He suddenly felt so, so lost as the pads of his fingertips hovered uncertainly over the solitary strings, his breath falling from his lips in quick, ragged breaths.  He had no bloody idea what he was doing.  Niall had only taught him the bare minimums of playing.  He couldn't possibly pull this off...

Before he knew it, his fingers were uncomfortably plucking the strings, sending sharp twangs reverberating about the small kitchen and echoing off of the walls- playing the notes of the song Ed had given to him.  The notes were uncoordinated, uneven, and a few of them completely wrong altogether, but as Harry opened his mouth, licking his dry lips, and let his voice tumble from his throat, it seemed that all else was forgotten.  

"I should ink my skin with your name, and take my passport out again, and just replace it. See, I could do without a tan on my left hand, where my fourth finger meets my knuckle. And I should run you a hot bath, fill it up with bubbles.

"’Cause maybe you’re lovable, and maybe you’re my snowflake, and your eyes turn from green to grey; in the winter I'll hold you in a cold place. And you should never cut your hair, 'cause I love the way you flick it off your shoulder.

“And you will never know just how beautiful you are to me, but maybe I'm just in love when you wake me up."

Images filled Harry's head; images of Louis's stark blue eyes, of the way they positively gleamed in the sunlight; hell, how they positively  _gleamed_ in absolute darkness; of how his chin dented with that single, shallow dimple whenever he smiled...

"And would you ever feel guilty if you did the same to me? Would you make me a cup of tea, to open my eyes in the right way? And I know you love Shrek, 'cause we've watched it twelve times.  But, maybe you're hoping for a fairytale too.

“And if your DVD breaks today, you should have got a VCR, because I've never owned a Blue-Ray, true say.  And I've always been shit at computer games, and your brother always beats me, and if I lost, I'd go across and chuck all the controllers at the TV, and then you'd laugh at me, and be asking me if I'm going to be home next week, and then you'd lie with me until I fall asleep, and flutter an eyelash on my cheek, between the sheets.

"And you will never know just how beautiful you are to me, but maybe I'm just in love when you wake me up."

His voice shook as he sang, and his clammy fingers slid and muffled the notes of the guitar, but he didn’t think he’d ever performed so honestly; so whole-heartedly before.  Suddenly, he found himself not quite caring whether or not Louis was repulsed or not.  All that mattered was that Louis knew how much he was loved.  Everyone deserved to know they were loved—Louis, more than anyone.

"And I think you hate the smell of smoke, you always try get me to stop, but you drink as much as me, and I get drunk a lot.  So I’ll take you to the beach and walk along the sand, and I'll make you a heart pendant, with a pebble held in my hand.  And I'll carve it like a necklace, so the heart falls where your chest is, and now a piece of me is a piece of the beach, and it falls just where it needs to be and rests peacefully. You just need to breathe, to feel my heart against yours now, against yours now…"

Behind the vision of the small, cluttered kitchen and the angelic man before him, Harry saw memories- memories of the firm, childish grip of Louis's warm hand as he tugged him down a hallway or through the yard, the rest of the world vanishing into blankness around them; memories of Louis breathing a melody into his ear, his hot, honey-scented breath sending his curls whirring gently about his skin; memories of Louis's gentle, caring eyes as he roused Harry from a night terror and placed between his lips the familiar pink pill that seemed to be the only thing keeping Harry on this planet...The only thing, of course, apart from Louis.   _Louis._

"But maybe I'm just in love when you wake me up…Maybe I'm just in love when you wake me up…” As Harry let his fingers fall strainedly over the strings, his eyes locked solidly on those of the beautiful boy standing in front of him, hands clasped solidly behind his back, an unreadable expression of his shadowed face.  Harry's heart trembled in his chest, his stomach writhing hectically with imaginary butterflies as he gazed at him.  

What was Louis thinking?  Was he disgusted?  Ashamed?  Embarrassed?  He swallowed tightly, moisture and heat burning behind his eyes as he opened his dry lips to complete the song of his love for Louis.   _Louis Tomlinson,_ he thought, aching to let his reveries make themselves audible, to  _tell_ this boy just what he meant to him,  _I love you, I need you, I’ll protect you and hold you, I love you, I love you, I love you…_

"Maybe I fell in love when you woke me up." His warm, damp palms came to rest lightly on the warm wood of the guitar, and he gazed desperately at the boy before him, searching for a reaction. Louis's lips had parted, his eyes wide with...With what?  Surprise?  Shock?  …Fear?  

He slowly blinked, once, twice, three times, his lush bottom lip trembling slightly as he gazed back at the green-eyed lad, the lad who felt suddenly pathetic, standing there foolishly, the guitar hanging limply in his hands and a sheen of sweat coating his pale, sallow face.  

This; this had all been a mistake, a terrible,  _terrible_ mistake.  He should never have listened to Niall, to Ed, to his  _heart..._

He wasn't certain of much in that moment.  He wasn't certain of his thoughts, of his mind, of his actions...All he knew was that he needed to get away, to leave, to go where no one else had a hope of finding him, of bothering him, of ever, ever questioning him....

As if his feet had gained control of his body, he was suddenly moving, gliding unsteadily across the linoleum and beneath the frame of the door, the smooth wood of the guitar parting from his perspiring skin and falling to the floor with a loud, ominous crash.   Perhaps it was broken.  Perhaps Niall would be furious.  At that moment, however, Harry didn't care.  Nothing, absolutely nothing drew his mind but the thought of how incredibly  _foolish_ he was.  

A wretched, emotional sob tore from his lips as he walked.   _Away, away, away..._

His feet carried him into a brisk run, and as he ran, the sound of his heart, so quiet and quick only moments ago, thudded heavily in his ears.  He had a vague feeling that a familiar, sweet voice was calling his name, he thought that maybe he heard a distant patter of footsteps somewhere behind him, but as his breath filled the air before him and tears nabbed fiercely behind his burning eyes, everything became slowly, surely meaningless.   _...Need to get away..._

The wind roughly scraped his face, pressing his thick, brunette curls against his head, the soft strands tickling the bare skin of his neck.  The whites of his eyes glowed against the strong, dry air, causing them to burn with more tears still.   _Away, away, away..._

He ever so stupidly closed his eyes as he ran, his feet pounding blindly against the cold, frozen ground, snow flying about his calves and ankles.  Ragged breaths fell from his lips, appearing in the frigid air in strong, hot clouds of steam for a fraction of a second before dispelling about his cheeks as he blundered forward.   He didn't know where he was going.  He did not know where on earth his feet were carrying him....Or did he?  His eye closed, his breath falling shallowly before him, a familiar beat reached his limbs...He knew exactlywhere he was going.  

As he wove blindly through trees, stumbled over branches and soft, damp patches of wet leaves, it dawned on him that this trail, this hidden expanse was the very road he had taken so many weeks ago, when he had first realised that his feelings for the boy with the blue eyes were so much stronger than he had perceived.  

Here he was, running away from his problems yet again.  He was pathetic.  he was selfish.  He was cowardly.  He did not deserve a person as beautiful, as wonderful, as perfect as Louis.   He never had, and he never would.  He was Harry Styles.  Of course he wouldn't.  He would never deserve anyone, much less someone like Lou.  Louis deserved someone who was perfect; someone who could make him as happy as Louis made Harry.  Harry would never be that person.  He was a coward.  A joke.  

He was always searching for an escape; anything to keep him from facing his reality.  Sooner or later, he realised, he would have to stop running.  

His burning eyes squeezed shut, forcing hot, salty tears to leak from beneath his damp, brittle eyelashes as he ran.  The crunch of snow and the scrape of his sneaker against what he presumed to be a stone let him know that he had been halted, that he was falling.  

He grunted heavily as his right forearm collided forcefully with the frozen ground, sending a shock of dull pain whizzing up his limb, and his breath hissed sharply between his clenched teeth as he slumped, shrinking slightly within the shell of snow that had been created when he had fallen.   He should have been cold, should have been shivering from head to toe in nothing but his saturated tee shirts and jeans, and he supposed he was, yet at the same time, he felt somehow...cozy.  

He was sure that this certain, strange feeling of warmth had absolutely nothing to do with his physiology.  No, he was vaguely aware that his sense of comfort was much more strongly related to the sudden solitude he was now experiencing, away from everything and everyone, surrounded by nothing but stark, white, unforgiving winter, where there were no feelings, no people, no relationships, no rules, no spoken words of comfort to mangle his mind further...Simple, blank, unseeing winter.  The thought of Louis's tawny face and his sky blue eyes filled his head, and he repressed another small sob.  

He wished things were different.  He wished he were a normal person, one who did not have to rely on a small, manufactured pink pill to get him through life; one who would be good enough for Louis Tomlinson.  He wished Louis would somehow love him.  He knew, however, that it would never, ever happen.  Never.  That much, he was sure of.  

He whimpered silently to himself, wrapping his weak, thin arms tightly around his knees and hugging them insecurely to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and simply feeling sorry for himself like the pathetic, self-pitying inferiority he was.        

 

❡❡❡

 

Louis was not sure how long he had been standing there in the kitchen, his feet seemingly rooted to the earth, his limbs frozen and numb while his mind whirred and spun with confusing thoughts.  

He was not sure exactly  _what_  those thoughts were telling him.   Were they telling him that Harry was after his heart?  That Louis was, in return, after his?  Were they telling him to retreat, or to strive onward; to escape or to return?   He did not know.  All he knew was that, as Harry's fumbling, slender fingers let the battered guitar fall to the tile with a clatter and he whipped sloppily around the corner and out the back door,  _Louis was not going to let him go._ Not again.  

He opened his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling exceedingly dry, and struggled to summon the air necessary to speak, his breath hitching solidly in his throat.  

"H-Harry!" he choked, his voice breaking slightly.  "Harry!  Harry, wait!  Harry!"  The task of forcing his feet to move from their place on the floor seemed just as difficult as it had been to speak, but eventually he managed to uproot his feet and begin a brisk trot for the back porch, eyes wide with alarm as he flung the screen door open and gazed around into the pale, ice white winter surrounding him.  

Snow had begun falling, as gently and silently as a smile, and Louis sighed softly, squeezing his hazel eyes shut and inhaling sharply through his teeth.  He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying desperately and most likely failing to gather his mangled thoughts.  He let himself sink slowly onto the cold, dry wood of the shadowed porch, the minuscule threads of his chinos catching slightly on the slivers of oak.  It was too much.  

His teeth clenched tightly as he struggled against the rush of mingled emotions throwing themselves continuously at his mind.  He trembled with the overwhelming feelings... Harry had gone yet again, but this time, Louis understood why.  He had not sung that song to him simply for the hell of it; that much of which he was certain.   That song...Those green eyes...The way they had settled on Louis as if he were the only pinprick of light in a stretch of pitch....

Louis swallowed, forcing back the dry, tearless sentiment slowly forcing its way up his throat.  He supposed he should have seen this coming.  The way he and Harry behaved together, the way they simply seemed to  _click..._ The way Harry seemed empty when without Louis, the way Harry had not retaliated when Louis had kissed him... The way that, in fact, he had seemed to  _like_ it, maybe just as much as Louis had... 

Once again, Louis found himself baffled by not only Harry's feelings, but his own.  Did…Did he have  _feelings_ for Harry?  At this point, their relationship was so unique that he was not certain where labels such as "feelings" played into the matter; where things morphed from friendship into…into something more…  What Harry and Louis had...It was just  _Harry and Louis._ There was no other way to describe it. It should have been enough to help Louis understand, but somehow, this only left him more confused.  

How did Harry feel about this?  Was he as baffled as Louis was?  To Louis, it seemed vaguely certain that Harry  _did_  have feelings for him; what else could his actions have meant?  What else could the singing of that damned  _song_ meant?  

When had this happened?  When had their strange relationship morphed from something simple and unbothering into something so questionable and so uncertain?  When had Harry realised his feelings for Louis?    _When,_ for the love of God, had Louis grown so used to the idea that maybe, just maybe, Harry thought of him as anything more than a friend, a brother?  When had Louis himself begun to  _return_  those feelings?  

_What, when, what, when._.. Would the questions never end?

He cared about Harry.  He wanted Harry to be happy.  He wanted to be the only thing in Harry's life to make him happy, and frighteningly enough, he probably  _was..._ Why was he so pleased with himself for being the one thing Harry had to lift him, for being the single person Harry could completely depend on?  He cared for him so, so much...He  _was_  caring for him, right?  Or were other emotions finally coming into play... 

_What, when, what, when..._   

Harry.  He couldn't lose him.  Harry.  Harry.  Harry.  

....Harry.... 

Harry, who had just collapsed into a fit of emotions;  _Harry,_ who was currently somewhere out there in the inhospitable snow and cold, unprotected, alone.

"Harry!" He shouted again, and the sound of the lad's name on his tongue sent a strange, inexplicable sense of  _home_  waving across his chest.  It seemed as if, sometimes, Harry was the only thing that made sense in his life, yet in all honesty, he was also the source of all this frustrating confusion...

"Harry, wait!" he shouted anxiously, running off the porch, his feet sinking into the stiff, crackling snow, slowing him slightly, but he continued to run.  He knew where Harry would be. He had known it the moment Harry had disappeared out the back door and into the thicket of snow-laiden woods.   The loud, vibrant crunch of the ground beneath Louis's feet seem to send the heavens cascading to the earth as the noise reverberated deafeningly against the thick, empty silence filling the winter air, drilling into Louis's ears.  

"I'm coming, Haz," he breathed to himself, his arms swinging at his sides as his feet pounding against the frosty ground, hidden branches and twigs catching the edges of his shoes and causing him to stumble slightly, but he continued forward.  "Harry, where are you?" he called faintly, gazing around at the blindingly bright white landscape, interrupted with the rough, natural textures of the damp trees.  He cut himself off, however, as something moved against the silent stillness, and his eyes sharpened as they narrowed in the direction of the movement.  

A damp, darkened patch of maroon fabric caught his eye, and he frowned slightly as the patch gave an odd tremble.  His eyes roamed slowly from the fabric up to a very familiar head of lush, chocolate-brown locks, blowing gently in the indecipherable wind.  Was he okay?  He was so, so  _broken..._  

_No,_ Louis thought desperately.  It wasn't right for a person as amazing as his Harry to look so feeble, so lost, so shattered; it was against nature... He had to  _fix_  this, had to fix Harry... He took a slow, deliberate step towards the shivering bundle of boy huddled in the shell of sharp snow, followed by another, until he was looming protectively over him, his hazel eyes locked solidly on the red-rimmed orbs of green centering Harry's pale, dimpled face.  _Oh, Harry..._  

Louis slowly lowered himself into a crouch, peering gently into Harry's eyes, gleaming and glazed with repressed tears, and Louis's throat tightened.  

As he extended a shaky, tawny hand, cupping his soft palm gently around Harry's jaw, he knew what he needed to do.  It was something he'd needed to do for weeks, something he should have done ages ago, something he'd  _wanted_  to do...

He forced all questions, all uncertain thoughts vaguely to the back of his mind and smiled softly into Harry's shattered face, letting him know that he was there and that he wasn't leaving him any time soon.  Harry's green eyes met his, and to Louis's surprise and delight, the faintest hint of a smile ghosted the dry, rosy lips of the boy before him.  

Louis's thumb ran smoothly over the skin of Harry's soft cheek, and he carefully lifted Harry's head before angling his own, his heart beating wildly in his chest and his ears pounding with the rush of his pulse as, for the first time in weeks, he closed the distance between the two of them and pressed his feverish, lonely mouth to Harry's.  

He had all but forgotten the feeling of their connected lips, the feeling of ceasing to be two and joining as one. It felt as if he had been trying for years to recall a lost memory, and now that he was finally remembering, it was as if everything was rushing back into place; like a dying man drinking water for the first time in days.

It was intimate, it was personal, it was indescribably deep and strange, and, to Louis's mingled ecstasy and dismay, it was every bit as flawless as he had remembered it to be; sharing this with Harry.  The familiar feeling of Harry's lips, the chapped, soft skin, the uneven warmth of each and every groove and crevice was something that would never leave his head. How was it possible that, even in the dry, bleak, biting air of the cold, Harry's lips were still the sweetest, warmest, most supple substance ever to have met Louis's mouth?  How was it possible that they were hundreds upon thousands of times more lush and perfect than any girl's lips had ever felt beneath his touch?  

How, how, how... At that moment, however, no thoughts ran through Louis's head.  He simply lost himself in the shock of their embrace, his mind blanking completely as his hands seemed to attain minds of their own, cradling Harry's head gently between their palms, brushing his cheek and trailing over his warm, soft skin... 

Harry's lips had frozen with what Louis could only assume was surprise, and Louis, frustrated with his sudden lack of response, let his lips mosh gently against Harry's, searching for a reaction, a retaliation,  _anything_ from the beautiful boy in his arms.  Louis was there, not only to give but also to  _take_ —to take something that only Harry had ever been able to give him.  

Harry, so incredibly, adorably innocent and naive, had never seemed to know just how vital he was to him, how he made Louis feel as he could be or do anything without anyone holding him back, how he made him feel for the first time that he was  _wanted._ Well, Louis wanted to let him know; let him know that he, Harry, was important, no matter how much the Cheshire boy may have thought otherwise.   _It's okay,_  he wanted to whisper into his ear,  _I'm here._  

He poured every ounce of comfort he possessed into their kiss, poured them into Harry's lips, and hopefully into his heart to remain there forever, because if Harry ever forgot just how incredible he was...  

At long last, Harry finally began to requite the kiss, his small, soft lips moving around Louis's, carefully, sweetly...As Harry's long, soft eyelashes fluttered quickly against Louis's cheek, bending slightly as they pressed into his skin, a breath broke between their melded mouths as Louis inhaled sharply.   Here he was, kissing his best friend, who just so happened to be a lad.  It should have felt wrong; it should have felt as sinful as anything could ever be, yet somehow, this experience…It was so, so, so utterly  _perfect._ Just perfect. 

How could this be wrong?  How could something be so wrong when it made Louis feel so  _right?_ How could something be so unnatural, so unacceptable, when it made Louis feel more alive than he ever had before, than he ever had in eighteen years?

This....This feeling....The feeling of Harry's lips sculpted around his, the feeling bursting to life in his chest and whizzing around his mind like a shock of adrenaline, the feeling of his heart thudding wildly against his ribs as only Harry could induce...The feeling of mingled bliss and beatitude settling over his shoulders as their lips moved against one another's...

It was so, so,  _so_ real.  He had never been so incredibly aware of or so sensitive to anything before, and although he wasn't sure what it meant, he knew that it was a feeling he wanted to experience...forever.  

A wave of disappointment pummeled the pit of his stomach as Harry's lips gently tore from his, the soft, sore skin of his mouth brushing against Louis's and sending friction rippling through his lips.  He watched with mingled serendipity and trepidation as Harry's pale, silky eyelids slid slowly open and his jade green orbs, woven with shards of hazel and blue, locked on Lou's.  

What message was he sending Harry?  That he reciprocated the feelings Harry had expressed in the song he had sung for Louis?  Hell, not even  _Louis_ knew the answer to that.  And yet, he thought that just maybe, he was finally beginning to realise that he  _was._  What was this?  Was this the end of one bond they shared and the beginning of another?  Or was this merely yet another confusing event in their mangled, unfathomable relationship?  

Harry's hot breath fogged the few inches of space separated them, his innocent, shining green eyes wider and rounder than Louis had ever seen them, framed by those rich, brown lashes and glinting in the stark blankness of the snow and pale sky surrounding them.  

_This... This boy..._ What was he?  What was he to Louis?  Louis rummaged around his heart and head desperately for the answer, and to his dismay, found that he didn't know, that he just might  _never_  know, as much as he wanted to figure this out... His warm lips, still damp and hot with the sweet taste of Harry, moved dryly together as he searched for something,  _anything_ to say to him, but no words came to mind.  What on earth could he possibly say after  _that?_

The last time he had kissed Harry, he had run away, escaped, left him in the dark.  Was that the only option here?  To run?  

_No,_ he thought, grim determination lining the creases of his young face.  No.  He would do one better for Harry.  He deserved no less... Diverting his eyes from those jade green orbs, he gently detached his palm from Harry's warm, soft cheek and let his arm snake smoothly beneath Harry's back, lifting him easily off the snow-laiden ground and into an upright position.  Harry's forehead creased with confusion as Louis carefully wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and tugged him gently into his side, his hand running up and down his bare arm in an attempt to meld warmth into his chilly skin.  

The gesture was so familiar that Harry sub-consciously nuzzled into Louis's grasp, his head fitting into the dip of Louis's neck as if their bodies had been molded to fit one another's.  Was it simple familiarity, or was it something...more?  

_It couldn't be,_ Louis thought desperately, his eyes widening with anxiety as he swallowed.   _It shouldn’t be._ The boy nestled in his arms shouldn't make him feel this way; like he needed him, like he craved his touch, his warmth his comfort...Louis should not have enjoyed kissing Harry the way he had.  His heart shouldn't have melted as Harry had sung that song to him moments ago.  He shouldn't be feeling this way... It wasn't right; it wasn't okay...

So, why did his arms tighten protectively around the younger man?  Why did his fingers brush gently against his skin, his touch flooding with affection?  He shouldn't have done such things.  He should have gently tore himself from Harry's desperate cling and suggest awkwardly that they ought to return to the house, but somehow, he could not bring himself to do so.  He formulated an excuse in his mind, told himself that he was doing this for Harry in his time of need, yet he knew that, as much as he would have loved to convince himself otherwise, it was because he did not  _want_  to let him go.  

It  _couldn’t_ be something more…

...It  _was._  Louis’s chest clenched and his head pounded as he realised that it  _was._

God, it really  _was._

"Did you mean it?" he breathed, his breath falling hotly across Harry's nose and lips, his blue eyes intent and weary as they locked on Harry's.  “Did…did you mean it?” he repeated, because he  _needed_ to know.  He  _needed_ Harry to mean it; he needed Harry to need Louis just as much as Louis needed him… He watched, lips parted, as Harry's face slowly crumbled, his mouth puckering with sobs and his eyes drenching with mingled panic and emotion.  

Harry nodded as the ghost of a sob whispered from his lips, possibly the most feeble and pathetic sound Louis had ever heard, and as Harry continued to nod to himself, the last of Lou's resolve shattered.  

"Hey," he whispered, his face flooding with concern as he opened his arms and tugged Harry tightly into his chest.  "Hey, it's okay, Harry, don't cry.  Please don't cry."  

He didn't know what he was doing or why he was comforting Harry when he was perfectly aware of the feelings Harry must be feeling for him.  He was probably being foolish.  He was probably making a terrible mistake.  he was probably going to deeply regret this in a day or two, but in that moment of vulnerability and honesty, he also knew that he  _needed_  Harry, needed to feel his authenticity, his solidity, to know that he, in all this madness, was the one rock Louis had to cling to, however crumbling and cracked that rock may be.    

As tears began to roll slowly down Harry’s pale cheeks, Louis’s heart stuttered slightly, and he leaned forward to press his lips against the moisture and brush his tears away with soft, adoring kisses, peppering his cheeks.  With every brush of skin on skin came the stuttering of hearts, the swoop of nerves low in stomachs, the buzz of minds.

"It'll be okay," Louis murmured, his cheek pressed tightly to Harry's warm forehead as he cradled him securely in his arms.  He could not be sure, but he thought that perhaps, as a violent gust of wind rattled the snow from the trees and sent Harry's curls whipping across his face, that maybe, just maybe, the younger lad in his lap had given a minute, intangible shake of his head.

Maybe it had merely been his imagination.

 


	22. Fall

 ❡❡❡

 

Though it had been Louis to run to Harry's side in the middle of the woods in that moment of weakness, it would be Harry who finally lifted himself shakily to his feet and walked the two of them inside, Louis's arm never leaving Harry's waist and Harry's fingers never ceasing to tremble. 

Harry would trip over his too-big feet, and Louis would smile through red, damp lips and think that maybe he never wanted to leave Harry's side ever again, and then Harry would see that smile and trip over the snow once more; and it was a bit of a hectic cycle, really, of butterflies low in tummies and frightened, soft thoughts.

When Harry finally nudged the kitchen door open with narrow hips and lifted Louis over the threshold, they seemed to freeze, neither quite sure of what to do or what to say. Louis's eyes darted to Harry's, and Harry's eyes darted to Louis's, and suddenly cheeks and ears were as red as cherries, and Louis could still feel Harry shivering against him. Finally, the deeper, slower voice broke the silence when longer, thinner lips began to speak.

"M' Cold." Harry breathed, because really, what else could he say? Louis's head flooded with relief at the prospect of something to do, and he wriggled reluctantly Away from Harry's warm waist to slide into the kitchen.

"G-go upstairs, he murmured, voice shaking. "I'll, uh... I'll just get y-you some tea."  When Louis finished stirring the milk into the warm, amber tea, he lifted the cup, the porcelain shaking in the saucer, and started upstairs with much more fright than was probably reasonable.

What on earth was he to do now? He'd just snogged his best friend after listening to him pour his heart out and confess his problematically strong feelings for Louis. He couldn't decide whether or not he'd massively screwed up or if this was heading for the better. Well, as he knocked timidly on the door of the bedroom and slipped inside, he supposed that all he could do was cross his fingers and hope for the latter. 

He was silent as he padded across the carpet and towards the bunk, where Harry was tugging his damp hoodie over his head, and set the cup down on the dresser. Harry's shoulders tightened as he heard the clink of china on wood, and Louis bit his lip. He didn't want Harry to be afraid; not of Louis...

"In you get," he said quietly, voice shy as uncertain as he nodded towards Louis's bed (neither of them could honestly remember the last time Harry had slept in his own bunk) and Harry's Adam's apple only bobbed as he blinked and toppled clumsily onto the blankets, not daring to look at Louis while he tugged the familiar pink blanket over his shoulders. 

Harry wasn't looking at Louis.  His eyes were locked solidly on his fingers as he lifted the cup to his mouth, taking small, timid sips of the hot tea, and as Louis stood at his bedside, he felt a sudden wave of dread falling over his shoulders.  He'd ruined everything, hadn't he?  He'd scared Harry off again, shooed him away to leave Louis in the dark once more...What had he done?

“You’re not going to run away from me again, are you?” Louis whispered, his face a little too sad as he blinked down at Harry, and Harry’s cheeks drowned of colour as his damp eyelashes clung, tracing dewy trails over his cheeks.  Louis knew the kiss back in the woods had probably been uncalled for; that it had mangled their relationship further than ever, but Harry  _couldn’t_ walk away from him now.  He couldn’t shut him out again; he couldn’t leave him like that again, because Louis had no idea what he would do if he did. 

“Are you?” he asked again softly when Harry didn’t answer, and he lowered himself down onto the mattress, his knee touching Harry’s hip.  Harry flinched, but Louis felt him leaning against his touch. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that; about Harry’s head telling him one thing but his heart and body telling him another.

_So many questions…_

Finally, with puffy red eyes and kiss-bitten lips, Harry sniffled, shaking his head childishly to himself and not daring to meet Louis’s eyes as he mumbled, “No.”

_No?_  Louis’s heart skidded in his chest, and he swallowed around the painful lump lodged in his throat.  The corners of his lips tugged down across his chin, he simply stared at Harry, eyes dim and inquisitive. They simply stared for a moment, soft hazel eyes roaming over soft green, and something in Harry’s face looked just a little bit lost; a little sad. As for Louis; well, he felt like he was melting and caving from the inside out.  He just…He needed…

Finally, he let a shallow breath shake past his lips and closed his eyes, head pounding beneath his temples.  He slide quietly onto the pillow, leg pressed to Harry’s, and his heart seemed to sink slowly through his stomach when he realised Harry was shaking. 

He just needed to calm him, his Harry, to make sure he knew Louis would never let anything happen to him.  Louis sighed through his nose, burying his face in his hands and wishing everything would just….solve itself.  Then again, he wasn’t sure how he wanted things to happen.   He…He just…

He blinked, eyes suddenly burning and face too warm as he bit his lip, and opened his mouth.

“I really need you to hold me right now.” He confessed quietly, voice tight and strained through his clenched jaw, and he felt Harry’s breath hitch beside him. 

When the boy said nothing, Louis turned, wondering if he’d scared Harry, or repulsed him.  All he could see were big, curious eyes, half sad and half confused as they eyed Louis, and not for the first time, Louis wondered what on earth he was thinking about. 

“Please?” Louis added, whimpering to his embarrassment, and he blinked quickly, waiting while Harry finally began to move on the bed. 

“I don’t think you want me to be close to you,” Harry whispered, not daring to look Louis in the eye as Harry’s long arms wriggled behind the small of his back and over his waist.  Louis could only shake his head in disbelief.  How on earth could Harry still possibly think he wasn’t worth Louis’s time?

“I  _need_ to be close to you,” he admitted, voice tiny and timid, and Harry only pursed his lips, doubting.  “Come here,” Louis said softly, suddenly not quite caring what happened as he crawled into Harry’s lap, running his fingers through his hair the way that he liked. 

“W-what about—” Harry began to mumble, voice shaking slightly, but Louis shook his head, mussing the fabric of Harry’s tee shirt slightly as he lay his head down on his shoulder. 

“I don’t know, Harry,” he mumbled, a little frustrated, and Harry froze beneath him.  “I don’t want to have to talk about what it means,” Louis continued, the thought of the kiss still fresh in his mind, and on his lips. 

“Then what else do we do?” Harry asked, and Louis bit his lip when he realised Harry was sounding frightened.  He wound a lock of soft brown around his fingers, petting and gliding, and tipped his chin to look into Harry’s face. 

“I don’t know,” He murmured again.  “All I can think about is that I don’t want it to ruin things.  And…and that it was nice.” His voice trailed off, barely audible as he spoke that last thought, and it was almost laughable the way he felt Harry’s face and neck flooding with bashful heat.  He might’ve liked to see how red his cheeks were ,and how wide his eyes were, but he was a little too comfortable curled against his chest, a little too comfortable in his arms, and that was just okay.

For once, he didn’t let himself think about whether this was appropriate or not, or what anyone else might have thought—because this concerned  _Harry_ and  _Louis,_ not anyone else, and that was all that mattered. He was happy being so close to Harry, and Harry was happy being so close to him.

"Please, Haz," Louis sighed, closing his eyes against the soft linen of Harry's shirt.  "Just hold me." 

So he did.

He did, and for the first time in quite awhile, Harry wasn't afraid.

 

❡❡❡

 

Louis woke up the next morning with an odd feeling in his gut. 

He felt scared.  Something had happened yesterday—something his sleepy mind couldn’t quite recall—something that would bring drastic consequences.  How drastic they would be, he didn’t know.  But ys, he was definitely scared.

He felt…Warm. Not physically, but emotionally (although he was pretty cosy at the moment, tucked against a hot, beating heart and draped in feverish arms).  Whatevr was scaring him seemed to be associated with something… _different,_ because a nice, warm  _feeling_ was just melting across his mind every couple of moments.  Something warm that caused butterflies to flutter in his belly, half induced by fear nad half induced by…something else.

Then, he opened his eyes, and his surroundings came into focus.  He looked up at the shadowy underside of the bunkbed, and upon realising someone was lying beside him, he realised that there could only be one other person in this bed.  Turning his head, he lay his chin on Harry’s chest, smiling a little when he rose and fell with the movements of his lungs.  Harry’s eyes moved behind closed lids, dreaming, and Louis wondered vaguely what was clouding his sub-conscious. He wondered if Harry ever dreamt of him, and then a whole other bucket of butterflies seemed to flood Louis’s middle again.

Harry’s fingers twitched slightly, and when Louis felt something tickling on his waist and on his shoulder, he noticed Harry’s arms around him, holding him loosely by his side.  He watched with mild interest as hands and fingers that had always been a little too big and a little too long fluttered over his skin, twitching and shifting, and he thought that maybe Harry was dreaming of performing, or of playing the guitar.

_The guitar._

He’d been playing Niall’s guitar yesterday (certainly not  _well_ ) and…and he’d sung that damned song to Louis, the song Louis had never heard before but the song he thought that he’d maybe like to hear over and over again fro the rest of his life.  And then…

Louis froze as he recalled the snow, the big green eyes, the warm lips on his, and his face grew pale as he looked back up to Harry’s sleeping face. His lips—still too long and too red—moved silently around unspoken words as he dreamed, soft whirs of breath falling in, out, in, out, and they…they just looked really…nice, and…

Louis swallowed, wondering why his interest in his best friend’s mouth had appeared so suddenly.  But as he blinked thoughtfully up at the sleeping boy, he understood that those feelings, those fascinations had been there for quite some time—it was only  _now_ that he was acknowledging them.

But the inevitable, controversial question of  _“Now what?”_ was now fresh in his head, causing panic to ignite in his head and his teeth to clamp over his bottom lip in worry.   _Now what?_ Now, what would become of he and Harry?  It was clear that they were both scared—terribly so—of…whatever was happening in the X House, but it had also become clear that Harry definitely had feelings for Louis, that he was aware of them and that he was considering them. 

And  _Louis…_ Well, he didn’t even want to  _think_ about how he might feel for Harry.  That was a dangerous road he couldn’t handle traveling at this sleepy moment.  Then again, they’d need to travel that road eventually, wouldn’t they? 

This was all very confusing.  Louis had thought of them as the best of friends—platonic soulmates, so to speak, when they had met…Or, had that been what everyone  _else_ was thinking?  Louis had always been self-conscious; always having his decisions made for him by the judgment of society, and it was just dawning on him that maybe,  _maybe,_ he was going to have to start thinking for himself.  Maybe he had.  Maybe he had already begun to think independently, and maybe that was when all these weird… _feelings_ cropped up.

Louis wasn’t particularly fond of those feelings.  They confused him, they aggravated him, they overwhelmed him, and they made him feel incredibly powerless.  And yet…In the middle of all those awful  _feelings_ was something…Well, warm. Something warm and fluttery and buttery, something that kept him on edge, on his toes, and not necessarily  _bad._

He needed to stop thinking of what others would think of him, and of Harry and of their relationship.  He needed to stop thinking with expectations in mind, with stereotypes and with normalities and with typicalities.  He just needed to be Louis, and he needed to do what Louis would want to do.

All he knew was that, despite the contrasting feelings of confusion and  _warm,_ that this—this entire ordeal with Harry, with himself—this was something  _big._

He could only sit back and wait to see what it was.

He glanced up as Harry began to stir, soft sighs falling from his nose and lashes fluttering.  When he opened his eyes, nothing but big and wide and green, Louis bit his lip, suddenly feeling very shy. 

“Hi,” he breathed quietly, not really sure what was safe to say what was not.  As Harry looked down at him, blinking sleepily, he smiled with those stupidly long and red lips, and Louis’s stomach was doing somersaults again.  But then, Harry’s eyes were on his lips, and the smile faded from his face to be replaced with a bright red blush.  Louis’s ears turned red, and Harry shyly averted his stare, biting his lip and tucking his chin into his neck like a mouse, and it was stupidly adorable, and Louis just…

“Hi,” Harry murmured, and as he peeked tentatively up at Louis on his chest, Louis knew that they were both well-aware of the question hanging in the air; questions that couldn’t really be answered.   _Where do we stand?  What’s changed between us?  What are we doing?  What do you expect me to do?  How should we behave, how should we act?  Are you as nervous about this as I am?_

Louis wasn’t sure what to do.  More than anything, he wanted to snuggle into Harry’s chest and have him kiss the top of his head, like always, but what he caught him off guard?  What if he was still too tired, to confused?  What if…  _Oh, no,_ Louis thought, because what if Harry was creeped out, what if he thought Louis was weird?  And that opened the door for an entirely new bout of crush-y feelings that Louis  _really_ hadn’t been expecting.  But then again, this was  _Harry,_ and for that reason alone, Louis knew he didn’t ever have to worry about pleasing or repelling him. 

He was about to toss his nerves over the fence and curl up into Harry’s arms, but then he was feeling something warm and cozy and strong, and to his delight he realised Harry had already crossed that line for him, and was tugging him up like a kitten against his chest.  Louis couldn’t repress the pinched little smile tugging at his lips, and he buried his face shyly against Harry’s shoulder as he felt nimble fingers at his waist, gliding and brushing but never grasping, as if he was afraid to hold him too tightly.  Louis  _wanted_ to be held; he wanted to feel secure and cozy and warm… But as he nestled into the dip of Harry’s arm and chest, he realised that he already was.  Yeah, things were confusing and scary and uncomfortable, but he was with his Hazza and all else was dark and warm and quiet, and that was just okay. 

As he curled his hand sinto loose little fists and burrowed childishly into Harry’s arms, he felt Harry’s neck warm once again, and smiled.  Suddenly, Harry’s lips were by his chin, tickling his ear and brushing his hair, and he was whispering, “I don’t want to run away from you.” And good god, the butterflies were back, and  _this must be right,_ Louis thought, because he’d never felt so special before, and then he was murmuring, “I don’t want you to either,” against Harry’s sweater, and he felt the boy’s neck and cheek heat all over again. Harry tilted his head considerately, eyes big and wide and lip pouted ridiculously, and then a shy, nervous little smile was on his face.

“Okay.” He whispered. Louis looked up, lip clamped between his teeth and eyes anxious.

“Okay?” Louis asked, quiet and small, and Harry’s cheeks pinkened as he looked down at Louis. He nodded, lashes fluttering shyly and eyes round.

“Okay.”

 

❡❡❡

 

The boys were roused rather grumpily by a very thrilled Niall, who couldn’t seem to wipe the smug little grin off his face as he eyed the two of them cuddling, and neither Harry nor Louis was in a particularly good mood by the time Niall had skipped out of the room, hollering for them to  _“Get the fuck up and put your clothes back on,_ ” much to their chagrin. 

They were silent as the shuffled around the room stepping into sweat pants and pale chinos, tugging hoodies over their shoulders and sliding into button-downs, climbing into pairs of matching slippers.  It was a little uncomfortable, perhaps, but not necessarily bad.  No, not at all.  As Louis snatched his green blanket from his bed, he didn’t miss the ecstatic little smile on Harry’s lips, and he left the room feeling fluttery and triumphant, the curly-haired boy skittering behind him.

“Morning, sunshines,” Zayn, Liam, and Cher chorused together as they stepped into the kitchen, the scent of omelets plaguing their noses, and Louis scowled while Harry blinked. 

“And how was your slumber?” Liam piped formally, looking a bit  _too_ cheerful as he and Niall exchanged gleeful looks, and Louis aimed a particularly rude hand gesture in his direction while Harry childishly stuck out his tongue. 

“Leave ‘em alone, tossers,” Zoe scolded them fondly as she set a full plate of eggs on the kitchen table, and they immediately relented to slap omelets onto their plates.  “Silverware, please; we are a house of citizens, not cavemen!” Zoe added as Niall and Liam slid their fingers under the folds of eggs.  As if to reiterate her point, Niall clumsily stuffed the eggs into his mouth, chewing as loudly as he could, and grinned at her while she rolled her eyes. 

“Well, a house of citizens and Niall,” Cher sighed as she began cutting her own omelet neatly on her plate, and Niall grunted, looking chuffed. “What’s on the schedule for today?  Does anyone know?” she added, looking around at the others.

“Working on duets again for the morning,” Matt said as he walked into the kitchen, scooping up his own egg.  “And then we have the afternoon off, because Robbie and Christina are flying to Glasgow at one.”

“Hey, freetime, isn’t that a first?” Zayn grumbled, running his hand through his hair, and Liam scolded him with a slap on the knuckles.  “Hey,” he whined, bowling his head into Liam’s shoulder, and Liam laughed, patting his cheek. 

“Mit’ll buhr nash foo bremurhks foat uh foo bours, moon dit?” Niall said loudly through a mouthful of omelet, and the others exchanged exasperated glances.

“I beg your pardon?” Cher chuckled, making a point to scoot away from him, and Niall giggled before taking a massive swallow.

“It’ll be nice to relax for a few hours, won’t it?” he asked, and Matt sighed, laying his head on the kitchen table. 

“You’re telling me,” he yawned.  “Haven’t gotten to sleep before midnight since week three. It’ll be…It’ll be good to…to go to bed earlier….” He trailed off sleepily, and a moment later, a series of soft snores filled the kitchen. Zoe chuckled, tugging Matt’s plate gently out from beneath him and strolling towards the dishwasher.

“Wake ‘em up again, will you?” Rebecca called from the living room, smiling as she shrugged into her coat.  “We’ve got to leave in five minutes.”

 

❡❡❡

 

“Good work, lads, really brilliant,” Robbie was smiling as he clapped each of them on the back.  “Niall, your dance moves are beyond fabulous,” he added, and while the others exchanged sympathetic smirks, Niall’s face lit like the sun. 

“You’re the first one to think so!” he breathed, stardust practically streaming from his eyes as he thanked Robbie, who chuckled uneasily as nudged him towards the door. 

“Keep up the tone, curly, it’s brilliant,” he said sincerely as he ran a hand playfully through Harry’s curls, earning a nasty look from Louis as he did so, and Harry smiled shyly.  “And Zayn, your hair looks  _fine,_ I swear on my life,” he added to a frantic Zayn as he skirted past Robbie, palms clamped protectively over his quiff. 

“See you tomorrow!” Liam said eagerly, face as bright as Niall’s as he eyed Robbie as if he were a god, and Robbie chuckled. 

“Course, Liam.  Great job to you, as well; your voice is simply incredible,” Robbie said, impressed as he spoke, and Liam turned as red as a beet as Greg ushered the five of them into the carpark. 

“And I saw that look, Lou, and I know you still love me!” Robbie called gleefully out the door, and Louis sighed, smiling despite himself and aiming a cheerful middle finger over his shoulder.  The sound of Robbie’s laughter faded behind them as the door swung shut, and they were covered head-to-do in bitter winter air.

“B-Bloody hell,” Zayn muttered, gripping the hems of his jacket in his fingers and tugging it snugly around his shoulders.  “Is this weather even l-legal?”

“I dunno,” Liam shook his head darkly, tucking his chin into his chest as they shuffled towards the SUV.  “According to my phone, it’s negative-fourteen degrees out.  No one appreciates this,” he grumbled, scowling towards the pale sky, and as if on queue, Niall went diving towards the nearest snowbank, shrieking with delight as he popped through the flurry of white flakes with a grin.

“Niall, get out of there, you’re gonna soak the car again,” Greg shouted, and Niall sneezed like a kitten before clambering onto the pavement and skittering towards the SUV. 

The ride home was quiet but eventually cosy as Greg floured the heat, and soon enough each of the boys were content and sleepy as warmth filled the cab.  Zayn started as Liam’s neck suddenly went limp as his head drooped onto his shoulder, and Niall smiled drowsily, patting Liam’s leg.

“Oi, stay with me, lads,” Greg smiled into the rearview mirror, “Don’t want to have to carry you off to bed.  You’ll have plenty of time to sleep this afternoon.”

“No way,” Niall chirped, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up as he straightened in his seat.  “Zayn and I have a serious tournament scheduled at two.  I’m going to kick your ass, football style” he grinned, and Zayn rolled his eyes, smacking him on the side of the head. 

“How about you, Li?” Zayn asked gently, turning to the drowsy boy on his shoulder.  “You gonna cheer me on from the sidelines, or not?”

“Wish I could,” Liam yawned, eyes bleary.  “But I…I’ve got to pick up a…a Christmas present for my…my mum…” as his head rolled slightly onto Zayn’s chest, he trailed off, and slow, steady breaths filled the car as he fell asleep.

“Poor thing,” Greg chuckled, winking into the mirror, and Louis sighed.

“Zayn, take him to bed when we get back, I’ll pick up his things for him.” Louis said, patting Liam’s knee and chuckling. 

“You sure, Lou?  You know where to go?” Zayn asked, and Louis nodded. 

“Yeah, he told me about it yesterday morning.  Just down at Blevin’s.” Lou turned his head, eyes suddenly hopefully as he bit his lip.  “You…” he began, voice cracking slightly.  “You, um, want to come with, Haz?” Harry blinked, looking taken aback.  “I mean, someone’s got to make sure I don’t forget my wallet, haven’t they?  And, well, everyone else seems busy, so I thought I’d…erm…” he trailed off, suddenly sounding much quieter than usual, and Niall and Greg exchanged gleeful glances in the mirror.  Harry smiled, fingers pressing against Louis’s hand as he cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come,” he murmured, cheeks pink, and suddenly the car was a little  _too_ silent as the weight of the conversation fell on their shoulders. 

“So, should be a good afternoon,” Zayn said loudly a moment later, and each of the men smiled as Greg pulled into the front drive, unlocking the doors and climbing out of the car. 

“Come  _on!_ ” Niall shouted as he barreled towards the house, beckoning Zayn to follow.  Zayn rolled his eyes as he shook Liam’s shoulder gently and ushered him out of the car. 

“When d’you wanna go, Lou?” Harry asked, and Louis blinked, feeling warm all of sudden.   _This was ridiculous…_

“Let’s warm up a little, shall we?  I’ll make us some tea before we head out,” he said, and Harry nodded, a delighted little smile on his face at the idea of tea, and he hurried after Niall, bowling the Irish boy into the door and grinning when he yelped.  

“Me too, we want tea too!” Zayn shouted to Louis as he followed the two boys, and he raised a hand clumsily into the air. 

Ten minutes later, he padded across cold kitchen tile in bare feet, toes curling up towards the ceiling as he carried a tray full of tea mugs, and waddled into the den.

“Oi, I’ve got tea, lazy arses.” He called affectionately, and Niall paused the virtual footie game on the television as Zayn dove towards the tray.

“Two sugars, one cream?” he demanded sharply, and Louis rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, princess, with a pinch of cinnamon and a dash of coriander,” he drawled sarcastically, and Zayn grinned, patting him on the cheek.

“Thanks, Lou.  Niall, get your tea!” he bellowed loudly over the music of the telly, and Niall poked his tongue childishly out of his mouth before scooping his own piping mug into his hands. 

“Goodnight, Li-Li,” he chorused softly, grinning towards the tossing and turning boy asleep on the sofa, who replied with a soft sigh. 

“Get out, I have an arse to kick,” Niall smiled, and Louis shot him a sassy glance before wishing Zayn luck and stomping out into the common room. 

“Harry!” he hollered at the top of his lungs as he turned the corner. “Harry, I have your tea!  Ha—”

“Shut up, I’m right here,” a deeper, rockier voice laughed quietly in his ear, and Louis jumped, eyes widening, and turned to see an eyeful of curls and green and pink…

“Oh,” he said, smiling.  “Sorry.”

“No worries,” Harry shrugged, smiling shyly as he lifted the mug and tugged the tray out from beneath Louis’s tea.  “Thanks for the tea,” he added as he skittered into the kitchen to set the tray onto the counter.

“No worries,” Louis echoed vaguely, suddenly feeling a little lost as his belly swelled with butterflies and his cheeks warmed.  God, the effect that this boy  _had_ on him… “Oh, God, you’re not really going to  _wash_ that, are you?” he added with a whine as Harry turned on the sink and slid the tray under the faucet.  Harry sent him a sheepish glance, and Louis groaned, trying not to let the endeared smile on his face slip through the cracks of his composure.

“You got milk on it…” Harry explained guiltily, trailing off, and Louis shook his head, chuckling into his palms. 

“Whatever.  Hurry up, we don’t want to get caught in the snow.” He scolded playfully.

“Housekeeping knows no time,” Harry murmured knowingly towards the sink, and Louis grinned, sinking into a chair to watch him. “Oh, don’t worry, I don’t need any help, thanks,” Harry added, smiling as he shot Louis a sardonic glance, and Louis laughed.

“Course you don’t, you’re washing a  _tray,_ ” he called, and Harry shook his head, grinning with red cheeks, and Louis pointedly turned his gaze as those damned dimples made a reappearance on either side of his lips.   _Stupid long, thin lips…_

He raised his eyebrows, still grinning as Harry tugged a brush from the cupboard and a bottle of dish detergent. Damn him and his “housekeeping”… Louis wasn’t about to complain, though; not really.  He rest his chin on his hands as Harry started to hum to himself, looking too happy to be reasonable as he began to scrub the tray, letting the wood fall under the water, and with a slow sink of his heart, Louis realised that he was in far too deep.  _What had this boy_ done  _to him?_

“You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?” he giggled as he grinned towards Harry, who shot him an impatient glance, popping his hip and reminded Louis a bit too much of his mother. 

“Oi, I washed the egg pans this morning.  You can thank me when you don’t get salmonella.”

“Salm—Sweet Jesus,” Louis shook his head, his cheeks aching with the smile on his face, and he buried his head in his arms as he waited for Harry to finish. 

“Got to dry it…” he heard him mutter cheerfully under his breath as he reached for a dishrag, and as Louis blinked, watching him quietly, he realised dimly that he wouldn’t mind living like this every day.  Not at all.

“Looks like you’re very good at that,” he noted, a different tone creeping into his voice.  “You know, looks like you enjoy it.  Suppose you wouldn’t mind washing my dishes every night…”

“Oh, really?” Harry challenged, grinning as he used his nails to dry the creases of the tray.  “You don’t think I’d mind, do you?”

“Well, would you?” Louis asked playfully, grinning as he swung his legs from the chair, and Harry bit his lip, shooting him a shy smile. 

“I dunno.  How many dishes are we talking here?”

“I dunno,” Louis echoed bashfully.  “Like…breakfast, lunch, and dinner…And the occasional snack…” he added as Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes with a laugh. 

“Oh, yeah, breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  While we’re at it, how about I do all your laundry and make your bed every day?”

“Okay,” Louis said automatically, and Harry rolled his eyes.  “If the band stays together, I don’t think you’ll have a choice,” he added triumphantly, sticking his nose in the air.  At this, Harry fell silent.

“Hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully.  “We haven’t really thought about that, have we?”

“What, if the band stays together?” Louis asked.  “No, I suppose we haven’t.  I…I dunno, I guess I kind of just…assumed…”

“That we would?” Harry asked, and Louis nodded. 

“But…You know, there’s always the possibility that we won’t win.” He whispered, speaking the thought that no one wanted to think about.  “I mean, we’ve got to think rationally, don’t we?  We’re up against some fierce competition.  Matt’s voice is like angels strumming harps, and the judges have always said that Cher’s the ideal popstar.  What if we’re voted off?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said slowly, a small frown creasing his forehead as he ran the dishtowel over the wood.  “It would be a bit gutting, wouldn’t it?  But…But just because we’d be off the show doesn’t mean we wouldn’t be a group anymore, would it?  I mean…we’ve both been in bands before, haven’t we?” he trailed off hesitantly.

“To be honest,” Louis admitted.  “I can’t really picture going back home and…you know…doing what we were doing before all this.  I mean, we’ve done so much…” Louis’s voice tapered and his cheeks turned beet-red as Harry glanced towards him, the air suddenly heavy with implications, and Louis bit his lip when Harry cleared his throat and turned back to the tray in his hands. 

“I can’t either,” he said quickly, struggling to relieve the suddenly tense atmosphere.  “Like…going back home and back to work and school…” his face seemed to droop at the thought, and Louis wanted nothing more than to hug him in that moment, to make him feel better.  “I mean…” Harry stuttered, looking up at him.  “Can we really just go home and pretend it never happened?  After all this?”

“No,” Louis was shaking his head before he could stop himself.  “No, that’s…I wouldn’t let that happen…” All he could think about was the panic in Harry’s voice when he had called him from Holmes Chapel the other day, and of how alone he sounded.  He wasn’t sure what was going to happen after the show ended, but he most definitely wasn’t going to ever let Harry feel that way again.  Not if Louis had anything to do with it. 

“I…” Harry sighed, setting the tray down on the counter.  “I just don’t want to have to forget about it. I don’t want…I don’t want to…”

“Hey,” Louis said quietly, standing from the chair to walk to Harry’s side, and suddenly the small space between them was very noticeable.  “Hey, you knock that off.  You know we wouldn’t just forget about all this, don’t you?” Harry looked carefully up at him, big green eyes  _still_ too big, as if he were afraid to be too hopeful. Louis sighed, letting his fingers creep across Harry’s waist and tugging him gently against his chest.

“Listen to me,” he said, chin bobbing against Harry’s shoulder.  “You’re so special, Harry.  Don’t you dare think I’d let you get away from me that easily, all right?” At this, Harry chuckled, his voice cracking slightly, and it was then that Louis noticed the  _thump-thump_ of Harry’s heart against his chest.  Louis bit his lip, smiling.  “And you don’t really think I’d give up football matches with Niall and Liam, do you?  Or comic book session with Zayn?”

“Definitely not,” Harry sighed, and Louis could practically hear the boy’s eyes rolling. He chuckled, his voice humming through Harry’s chest as he nuzzled his nose into the pulse of his neck.

“See?  I’ll be damned if I let you lads out of my life anytime soon.” He said.

“Promise?” Harry whispered, recoiling slightly to look Louis in the face, and god  _damn_ it, the butterflies were back.

“Promise,” Louis said, voice notching, and suddenly all he could see were dimples and  _green_ and  _red._  Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he blinked and scooted back towards the table, smacking Harry lightly on the hip.  “Hurry up, you, and finish with that tray.  If we don’t get that present for Liam’s mum, he’ll never want to stick around after the show,” he joked, and Harry rolled his eyes, face still glowing as he smiled.

“Yes, your majesty,” he grumbled with grin, and Louis raised an eyebrow.  Really, it was lucky that Harry was his favourite, or he’d be in a wagon-load of trouble right about now. 

“Finally,” Louis groaned as Harry slid the tray into the cupboard with a flourish, and Harry stuck his tongue out, looking ridiculously like Niall before turning the sink off. 

“Quit whining, you,” he scolded, scooting into the common room and sliding into his boots.  Louis followed him to the sofa, grabbing his own sneakers and stuffing his feet haphazardly over the soles.  Harry straightened, smoothing the folds of his tee-shirt, and looked round towards the door. 

“All right.  Let’s go.” He said, starting for the door, and Louis screeched to a halt.

“Excuse me?” he said, voice rising slightly as he gaped towards Harry.

“I said, ‘Let’s go,’” Harry said slowly, mouth parting and eyebrows furrowing as he eyed Louis in confusion.  “Problem?”

“Um,  _yes,_ problem,” Louis snapped, eyebrow rising.  “Where is your  _jacket,_ mister?”  Harry snorted, rolling his eyes as if to look irritated, but it would take a blind man to miss the smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, c’mon, Lou.  I’m not five, I don’t need a coat.” He complained, ignoring the coat closet to his left as he tossed the keys to Louis, who caught them in his fist but remained stubborn.

“No,” he agreed smoothly, nose in the air.  “You are  _sixteen,_ and yes, you sure as hell  _do_ need a coat.  Do you remember the last time you went outside in the cold with only a hoodie?”

“Nothing serious, it was only a bit of mild hypothermia,” Harry grumbled, scowling as he ducked his head.   _He better not use that_ ridiculous  _pout,_ Louis thought darkly, eyes narrowing.   _So help me…_

“Harry Edward Styles,” Louis huffed, crossing his arms as he glared at the curly-haired boy.  “If you do not open that closet and yank a coat over your gangly arms this  _instant…”_

“Oh, gee, I’m so afraid,” Harry jeered, grinning as he waggled his eyebrows and poked his tongue childishly in Louis’s direction.  Louis’s eyes widened with surprise—frankly he was  _shocked_ that Harry had the nerve to sass  _him,_ Louis—before they tightened into dangerous slits, and Harry gulped, although he was still grinning. 

“Giving me lip, now, are we?” Louis mumbled quietly, face tightening, and Harry only grinned, feeble giggles falling from his mouth as he taunted Louis.  “I’m just saying,” Louis continued airily.  “If you don’t put that coat on….I will.”

“Will you?” Harry jeered, eyebrow cocked in disbelief as he leaned against the wall to his right, resting his elbow on the plaster.  Well, Louis had had enough.  Harry should have known not to sass him in such  _ways,_ and he was going to make sure he never did so again.

“I will.” He growled playfully, and as he took a firm step forward, Harry’s shoulders jumped slightly, causing Louis to grin.  He walked closer, and Harry grinned in anticipation, bracing himself. 

“What are you going to do, Lou?  Snap your fingers at me, hm?”

“Too far!” Louis screeched, eyes flaming as he suddenly leaped for Harry, looking ridiculously like a very pissed-off cat as his back arched and he sprang through the air, sending the younger boy crashing to the ground.  Louis grinned wickedly, giddy with his triumph as Harry blinked, dazed with whiplash.

“Who’s leering now, eh?” He laughed, chest rocking with elated chuckles, and Harry gazed dazedly up at him, eyes wide and baffled with amusement. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry groaned, still breathless from his fall as he winced.  “You’re utterly ridiculous, and as the stepson of a neurosociology major, I’m declaring you certifiably psychotic.”

“Mm,” Louis hummed sweetly, eyes bright with glee as he tightened his grip around Harry’s wrists, pinning him to the floor.  “Now, Mister Styles, what are you going to do when I let you up?”

“I’m going to call your mum and have a long discussion with her about admitting you to a mental health institute,” Harry shot back.

“I’m sorry, Harold; I’m going to repeat the question, and this time you’re going to give me a decent answer, or…” Louis trailed off challengingly, his own eyebrows rising.  Harry should have known by then not to mess with him, indeed.  It was, in all honesty, the first time anyone had dared to talk back to him, and to Louis’s surprise, he realised it was…Well, kind of endearing.  Then again, everything Harry did was endearing.  Hell, the way he  _snored_ was endearing.  …Maybe Harry was right.  Maybe Louis  _was_ psychotic.

Harry only grinned in reply, still breathless and panting from his fall, and his eyes gleamed as he gazed up into the Doncaster boy’s face.  The two of them fell silent, Harry’s chest rising up and down beneath Louis’s, and Louis’s lips still bubbling with quiet laughter.

It was slowly dawning on Louis just how  _nice_ Harry looked in that moment; his curls flopping about the floor and his squared, milky face rippling with the shadows of Louis’s head; his green eyes long and wide, shimmering with so many colours, they looked nearly pixilated…

Red lips.  All Louis saw was pink, and white, and red, and green, and chocolate….

His fingers tightened possessively around Harry’s wrists, the pad of his forefinger tracing small, significant lines over his skin, as if to remind Harry that he was there, that he was holding him….

For the first time, he allowed himself to truly wonder what it would be like to call Harry  _his._ Yes, he knew he called Harry  _his_ nearly every moment of the day, but…but not like  _that._ Not like a lover would a partner; not like a boyfriend would…well, a  _boyfriend._ What would that be like…like  _that?_

Would they hold hands?   _They already held hands…_ Would they cuddle?   _Oh, they already cuddled…_ Maybe they would kiss each oth— _Oh, wait…_

Harry would always be his.  He would always be his friend, his brother, his companion…his  _Harry._ Was it so strange that he could be his…his  _lover,_ as well?  He’d felt since the day they met that he was his other half, his complement, the other piece of his pair.  Up until now, he’d only loved Harry platonically.  He’d only adored him as a friend, as a mate…

But it was slowly dawning on Louis that the line between  _friendship_ and  _love_ was very fine.  What happened when two good friends discovered a connection so unique, unlike any other?  What happened when two friends felt as if they’d discovered their eternal companion?  What happened when two friends began craving one another—his presence, his attention, his approval, his love—like nothing they’d ever wanted before?  What happened when a lad’s world stopped revolving around himself and began to revolve around another? 

_This,_ Louis thought dimly, the words echoing in the back of his head.   _This is what happens._

Louis wasn’t sure what would become of  _this,_ or of what he and Harry would make of it.  All he knew was that when he’d met Harry, he felt as if he’d stopped  _waiting_.  He’d stopped searching, stopped looking for something to fill the void in his life—because that something had  _finally_  made its appearance.

That  _something,_ that boy with the curly hair and the green eyes that looked like grass and the green glass of a bottle; that  _something_ with the cheeky dimples and the innocent gaze and the long lips, that  _something…_

Harry. 

_Yes, Harry,_ that voice in the back of his head whispered, and a soft puff of breath fell from his lips.

“What’re you thinking about?” Harry asked, his voice sounding unusually small as he blinked curiously up at Louis, those damned lips parted and red, and Louis’s stomach fluttered nervously.  How could something as simple as a sixteen-year-old boy cause him to feel like a silly schoolgirl with her first crush?

But this wasn’t anything simple.  This was  _Harry,_ and that was all the explanation Louis would ever need.

“I’m wondering,” he whispered, suddenly feeling quite self-conscious of what he spoke, “Whether or not I want to kiss you.”

He laughed slightly, face still riddled with mingled shyness and mortification as Harry’s cheeks suddenly flooded with scarlet, and he realised, only with slight comfort, that Harry must be as nervous and as unsure as  _he_ was.

“D-do you, then?” Harry asked, voice hitching in his throat, and Louis sighed to himself, because  _God,_ he was so ridiculously infatuated…

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, his voice little more than a whisper as his hair swung around his face and over Harry’s, and suddenly, his heart was thumping much more quickly than it should, threatening to pound its way free of his chest as it beat.  “I don’t know if I’m  _supposed_ to want to.” Because he  _didn’t._ He didn’t know if this was  _okay,_ if this was  _right…_ and yet, as the memory of Harry’s lips flooded to his head, he realised that it wasn’t important what others may have thought, because this was just  _him_ and it was just  _Harry,_ and that was all that mattered. 

“I think,” he quaked, blurred spots appearing across his vision with every  _thump-thump_ of his heart. “I think I’m going to find out,” he finished timidly, his voice squeaking as it left his throat, and before he knew it, he was thinking,  _Oh, just fuck it,_ and was stretching his neck to let his mouth find Harry’s once more. 

Harry barely had time to murmur, “Okay,” before his lips were captured in Louis’s, and  _God,_ this  _must_ be right, Louis finally thought, because  _this…_ The feeling of their mouths melting together was completely incomparable to anything in the world, and all he could feel was how  _warm_ this was, and how  _nice_ this was, and how hot and damp and soft Harry’s mouth felt around his, and how scary and how wonderful this was…

It was only when he was kissing Harry that he finally felt some sort of nirvana; that he finally felt as if everything was falling into place.  It was only when their lips were shaping together that Louis ever felt certain about anything, because when he was kissing Harry, anything and everything seemed to make sense in his head.  When he was kissing Harry, he was able to find answers to all of his questions.

He could feel Harry quaking underneath him, feel his heart thudding ridiculously against Louis’s chest, and of course, like everything else about Harry, it was irrationally  _endearing,_ and  _fuck,_ Louis was such a goner; he was falling impossibly hard for this boy. 

Only now was he able to put everything into perspective; only now was he able to simplify everything strange complex and think,  _oh yeah, that makes sense._ Only now was he able to realise that this was nothing bizarre or unnatural.  This was just  _love._ Because Harry really  _liked_  Louis, and Louis really  _liked_  Harry, and that was all there was to it. 

And yeah, the kiss was nervous and wet and really nothing more than the trembling, uncoordinated caress of damp lips around damp lips, but it was  _Louis’s_ lips, and those were  _Harry’s_ lips, and therefore the sloppy, awkward kiss was the most beautiful and flawless thing he’d ever felt. 

Soft, grooved lips pressed against soft, grooved lips; filling each other like batter filling the cavities of a mold, and hesitant, curious tongues peeped and touched, as if to ask,  _Is this okay?  Are we okay? I want you to like this; I want you to want this too._

Louis didn’t ever want to stop kissing him.  Kissing him was just  _wonderful,_ and quiet, warm breaths whirred slowly from noses and across cheeks as each boy let himself melt into the embrace—simply enjoying it, testing it, assessing it—but as tongue tips circled and as hearts raced, Louis knew that there were things that needed to be said. 

Very reluctantly, he let his lips swoop and pucker along Harry’s for a final moment before retreating slightly, his wet lips feeling chilly.  Harry’s eyelashes tangled with his own before Louis pushed himself off of his chest, simply allowing himself to hover and to blink into those damned green eyes.  Harry’s mouth was still shining with the kiss and was red as a cherry, and  _God…_

“I really like kissing you,” Harry whispered, cheeks hot as he confessed, and Louis’s ears turned as red as Harry’s lips. 

“I really like kissing you too,” he replied before he could stop himself, and his eyes widened as his ears burned only more brightly.  The corners of Harry’s mouth lifted, and a shaky smile was clear on his face.  “I really like  _you,_ ” Louis added, face puckered with painful honesty as he finally put his jumbled thoughts into words, finally worked them into a simple statement. 

“You do?” Harry asked, eyes wide and bowed lips parted innocently, as if he couldn’t quite believe what Louis was saying.

“Yeah, I…I guess so,” Louis said, smiling as his voice shook, and God, his heart would  _not_ stop thumping in his chest, because…because Harry…

“I just…” Louis continued, voice still trembling as his pulse thrummed against his neck.  “I’m not really sure what’s happening, I don’t know what I’m thinking, I just…I need you, so much, and I need you to need me too, and I just need to be with you and be close to you, and I’m so scared because I’ve never needed anyone like I need you, but I…I don’t want it to go away.  I just want to be happy with you. But…But I’m not sure how.”  As Louis exhaled, his words falling over Harry’s face and sweeping into his eyes like light, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders’ he’d  _finally_ begun to make sense of all the confusing thoughts, he’d  _finally_ told Harry how he felt…

_But what now?_

He just needed to sort out his thoughts, to find a solution, a happy medium…

He cared for Harry.  Harry cared for him.  He needed Harry.  Harry needed him.  He wanted the best for Harry, and Harry wanted the best for him.  He liked to hold Harry, and he liked kissing him.  Harry liked holding him and kissing him too. 

Didn’t that qualify as  _romance?_ As something  _special?_ He’d always known that what he and Harry had was  _special,_ but…But in what way?

But then, he realised he needed to stop analyzing this; he needed to stop trying to find labels and to classify this as anything  _ordinary,_ because this…this was the opposite of ordinary.  He needed to let it all go and to just be  _Harry and Louis._

Maybe  _this_ was what  _Harry and Louis_ was.  Maybe  _Harry and Louis_ was just a pair of people who needed each other and cared for each other and adored each other; people who liked to touch and to kiss; people who thought the other was the most wonderful person on earth…

“I just…” he continued, voice cracking and shaking as he blinked down into those hopeful, afraid green orbs.  “I just want to care for you, and I want to laugh with you, and I want to be be there for you.  I want to be your best friend, but I also want to hold you and kiss you, and I want to call you mine, because no one else will ever care for you like I do, and I don’t want anyone else to think that you belong to them—”

“I’ll be yours,” Harry interrupted, his voice barely audible as he managed to force a scarce whisper through his throat.  “If you’ll let me.” He squeaked, and  _yes,_ this  _must_ be right, because Louis didn’t think he’d ever felt so special or so proud.  Harry would be  _his,_ Harry would let Louis call him  _his,_ he was  _his_ Harry…

“I’ll let you,” Louis breathed, sounding foolish but not quite caring as Harry bit his lip, a shy smile on his mouth now, and  _God,_ this was  _really_ happening… “If you let me be yours too?” he added hopefully, his voice small and quiet, and Harry’s cheeks were rosier than they ever had been, and it was just  _killing_ Louis to know that it was  _him_ who was causing that blush; it was  _Louis_ who was making Harry smile like that…

“Yeah,” Harry whispered, his green eys wide and his dimples deep in his cheeks.  “Yeah, Lou... I’ll let you.”

Heart thudding and butterflies swooping more madly than ever in his belly, a shaky smile graced Louis's mouth, and he was suddenly grinning like an idiot as he looked down at Harry, and then Harry was grinning too, and they were both scared and both nervous, but that was just okay, because they were scared and nervous  _together._

"Can I kiss you again?" Harry asked, voice small, and Louis's ears burned like stars, feeling a little too hot under his hair, and he found himself nodding as Harry's eyes locked on his, and then, all he felt was  _warm_ and  _soft_ and  _nice_ because they were kissing for the fourth time, and Louis didn't think he'd  _ever_ get used to this feeling - and that was okay with him too.

They broke apart, grinning and giggling like five year olds, their lips hot and damp and kissed, and Louis didn't think he'd ever felt so proud or so fluttery before, and  _god,_ the two of them had been so  _stupid_ all this time...

"Hi," he whispered, just as Harry's nose bumped into his, and as they closed their eyes in surprise, Harry murmured a little "Oops," and this was just... 

Suddenly Louis found himself laughing, high on emotions and giddy with all these feelings and all these butterflies, and Harry giggled as Louis let his forehead rest on his, warm and dark skin touching cool and pale, and it was just right.   _Just right._

"By God, we're idiots," Louis muttered, unable to wipe the cheek-splitting smile off of his face, and Harry bit his lip, letting his fingers curl around Louis's.

"Yeah," he whispered, as if worried to startle Louis, and Louis felt his heart melt just a little bit further into his chest, because  _god,_ this boy had him splitting at the seams.  "But now we're each other's idiots, aren't we?"  

As Louis closed his eyes and pressed another soft kiss to Harry's forehead, he felt eyelashes flutter again his cheek, and his entire being seemed to thaw with sheer adoration.

"You know," he whsispered thoughtfully, brushing a stray curl from Harry's ear.  "I think we were all along."

 

 ❡❡❡ 


	23. Sofa

 

Harry was a giddy mess of butterflies and nerves and almost sickeningly sappy thoughts from thereon out, trying far too hard to behave nonchalantly and to keep himself composed but completely failing with each and every ounce of attention he received from Louis. With so much as a glance, Louis could have the poor boy blushing and stuttering like a berk in the middle of an interview, say, or on stage; with every brush of fingertips (or possibly lips) he’d have Harry melting in his shoes, and Louis could not possibly have been more thrilled. Who knew that he, of all people, could have the effect on a person like Harry the way that he did? Who knew that he, Louis Tomlinson, could make a boy as beautiful as that blush and trip over his sentences like untied shoelaces? The two of them both seemed to be in dazed dreams, and neither wanted to wake up anytime soon. 

 

The others in the house, to the boys’ surprise, hadn’t been quick to notice the change in their relationship. Well, to be fair, there really hadn’t been much of a change at all—simply a change in awareness. The two of them really didn’t behave any differently around one another; they simply reacted to certain things in different ways. For example, ; or Matt would mention out-of-the-blue how strange it was that no couples had formed in the X House, and Harry and Louis would both turn red as beets, much to the other contestants’ confusion. 

 

Neither of them had informed anyone else of the recent developments. It wasn’t that they were trying to hide their affection for one another—because they most certainly weren’t—it was just that they didn’t feel the need to bother anyone with public displays of affection or with silly, sappy sighs of first loves. They were a modest pair, they were, and while Harry wanted nothing more than to brag about Louis and Louis wanted nothing more than to brag about Harry, they were very polite, very discreet… Or at least, they thought they’d been. 

 

It was Sunday night, twenty minutes before the boys were scheduled to perform with Robbie, when Zayn cornered Louis. 

 

“Lou?” he asked, looking a little too nonchalant as he sidled up to the makeup counter with a paper cone of water in his palm and scrutiny on his face. Louis had been watching Harry for the better part of an hour while he had his hair styled by one of the disconcertingly attractive beauty artists, a frown between his eyebrows as he watched her smile and laugh at him in the mirror. No.

 

“Mmm?” Louis asked, jaw clenched as his eyes bored into the back of her head, and he sighed when Zayn snapped his fingers, bringing his attention to him. Zayn glanced over his shoulder conspiratorially, looking ridiculously like he was starring in a bad spy movie, and Louis stifled a snicker. “Need something, Mr. Bond?” he asked, and Zayn rolled his eyes.

 

“Just wanted to chat a little bit before the show,” Zayn said coolly. Louis frowned; he wasn’t being fooled. Zayn wanted something—or, rather, wanted to know something—and Louis had a wary feeling that he knew what it was. “You know. Let the nerves go, and all that.”

 

“Interesting,” Louis smiled, humouring his friend. “We’ve never had these pre-show chats before, Zaynie. Sure there’s not something on your mind?” He couldn’t help but laugh when Zayn’s face paled and he gulped, shaking his head.

 

“No, course not,” he grumbled, not meeting Louis’s eye, and Louis reached forward to pat his head. Zayn ducked out of the way just in time; a skill he’d mastered rather quickly, Louis noticed. “Stop that, you,” he added with a grin, smacking Louis’s knuckles and swinging himself up onto the counter beside him. 

 

“Fantastic hair like that, it’s just dying to be wrecked,” Louis hissed playfully, and Zayn rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

 

“Not at all,” he muttered. “So, how’ve you been?” he added, a little bluntly, at that, and Louis’s eyes widened with surprise.

 

“Um. Good,” he said, taken aback by the suddenness of Zayn’s question. “You?” he added slowly.

 

“Good,” Zayn replied immediately, eyes narrowing as he assessed Louis, who sighed. 

 

“Do yourself a favour and don’t go into television, mate. You’ll never make it as an actor.” He patted Zayn’s hand sympathetically, and he yelped in protest.

 

“Wha-! Louis! I’ll have you know, I’ve been told my many that I have fantastic theatrical skills,” he said with a pout, but with a pout that was nothing on Harry’s. As Louis glanced back towards the beauty artist and to the head of curls bobbing lazily above the back of the chair, he sniffed indignantly; it should be Louis seeing that pout right now, not her. “And will you take your eyes off of him for two seconds, please?” Zayn added patiently, smiling now as he turned to see what Louis was staring at.

 

“What’re you talking about,” Louis muttered, quickly ducking his head and glaring pointedly at the paper cone in Zayn’s hand, and Zayn grinned, suddenly unable to stop laughing. 

 

“Sure, Louis, sure. You’ve seem rather fascinated with the mirror over there, if you don’t mind me saying. Or…Or is it possibly the reflection in the mirror, hm?” he teased, poking Louis playfully in the ribs, and Louis chuckled, despite himself. 

 

“No, no, I was just dozing off!” he insisted feebly, and even he admitted that he sounded foolish. “I…I lost my focus, you know?”

 

“At the same exact spot, every time,” Zayn mused skeptically, still grinning, and Louis’s ears turned red as he folded his arms across his chest. “You know, at that spot with the lovely curls and the nice green eyes and the dimp—”

 

“Shut up,” Louis growled, a shy smile hiding behind his pursed lips as he shoved Zayn, and Zayn collapsed onto the counter, howling with laughter. At the sound of his giggles, Harry looked up, and caught Louis’s eye in the mirror. It was ridiculous, really, how quickly Louis’s face reddened and how quickly the smile wriggled onto Harry’s face, and god damn it all, Louis was in over his head. Harry, still caught in between a smirk and a blush, bit his lip and pointedly turned his gaze to the floor, and Louis crammed his hand over his mouth to hide his grin. This was utterly and completely stupid, but somehow, he didn’t quite mind. 

 

“Oh my God,” he heard Zayn saying slowly as he watched this all unfold in front of him. “That must have been the cheesiest shit I've ever seen. Lou, you’re making me want to throw up this morning’s bacon. Do you honestly think I’m that stupid?” he asked, smiling as his eyes darted between Louis and Harry, and Louis—giving up on all pretenses of cool—groaned, toppling over onto the counter and burying his face in his arms. “Louis loves Harry, Louis loves Harry,” Zayn began to taunt, positively beaming as he sang, and Louis sat up, glaring at him as if he’d just declared a third world war.

 

“Shut up, tosser, you sound like Niall,” he growled, and Zayn snorted, smiling. 

 

“Really, though,” he grinned, scooting across the counter to help Louis up. “Really, what’s going on between the two of you? You seem awfully close, lately…I mean, of course, closer than usual. If that’s possible,” he coughed not-so-subtly into his hand, and Louis smacked him on the thigh. Louis’s face was hotter than a skillet, now. He really wasn’t in the mood to share details of his romantic life with anyone—not when it involved Harry. This was special. This was…sacred, somehow, something he wanted to keep secret, to himself; something that made him feel as if he knew something that the rest of the world didn’t, and he was loving it. On the other hand, they lived with these people. They were bound to figure it out sometime…

 

"Hey. It's me. You can talk to me, you know," Zayn added, his tone softening suddenly, and Louis met his eyes, curious. It was true that, aside from Harry, he was probably closer to Zayn than to anyone else in the band. Zayn was great; Zayn was contemplating and down-to-earth, he was smart and gentle, and when he wasn't being a vain prat, he was one of the best friends Louis had ever had. He could talk to Zayn about this, couldn't he? Of course he could. But Harry… He cast another glance towards the curly-haired boy, who was gabbing happily away to the stylist, eyes bright and face innocent, and he bit his lip. 

 

"You two…" Zayn said slowly, eyes twinkling as they darted between Louis and Harry. "You…You've…You're together, now, aren't you?" he guessed, and suddenly, Louis was completely out of control of the grin now plastering itself to his face. His cheeks ached as he beamed shyly, ears as red as a fire engine, and Zayn chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes. It's about time!" he exclaimed, grinning as he clapped Louis on the back and tugged him in for a congratulatory hug. "Good for you, mate. C'mere."

 

Louis's lips pursed as he smiled into Zayn's shoulder, and when Zayn caught sight of the delighted little simper on his friend's face, he laughed. 

 

"Now, I'm not a girl, nor am I Niall, so I'm not going to ask for every single detail…" he began, and as he glanced pointedly towards Louis, Louis grinned, knowing what he wanted to hear. "But what happened?" Zayn finished eagerly, and Louis clasped his hands in his lap, a happy little breath falling from his mouth.

 

"Well…" he began, going red once more as he thought back to the several kisses, the shy confessions, but he was cut off as Robbie sauntered into the room, fitted in a strapping black suit, and hollered at the tip of his lungs, "Finish up, princesses, it's showtime!"

 

"We'll talk later," Zayn shot Louis a sharp glance, and Louis rolled his eyes as he hopped off of the counter and scooted towards the door. Within a moment, a brown, curly blur was drifting steadily towards him, and he turned with a grin to see Harry shuffling across the floor on feet that were too big and legs that were too long for the rest of his puppy frame, and suddenly Louis couldn't stop smiling, because damn, life was so good.

 

"Hey, you," he grinned goofily, his cheeks aching, and Harry bit his lip, eyes shining. The two of them still had not quite gotten through the "honeymoon" phase of their relationship, so to speak. 

 

"Looking sharp," Harry grinned, his eyebrows rising, and Louis smirked, cheeks rosy. 

 

"And yourself, curly," he noted, reaching up to pluck one of the soft, round ringlets on Harry's head with a boing. 

 

"Hey!" Harry protested, batting Louis's hand away, face scrunching in protest, and Louis chuckled. 

 

"C'mon, lovebirds, don't let the door hit you on the way out," Robbie called to the dawdling pair, and both Harry and Louis turned pink as grapefruits as they scurried out the door, Harry's hand on the small of Louis's back and butterflies flaring in Louis's tummy. 

 

"You're small," Harry giggled in Louis's ear as they shuffled behind the black curtain a minute later, waiting for their performance to begin. Louis's jaw dropped, and he turned to glare at Harry indignantly. 

 

"Am not!" he whispered, mock fury in his voice, and Harry grinned. 

 

"Are too. You could fit in my pocket."

 

"You're only an inch taller than I am," Louis grumbled, crossing his arms and tucking his chin into his chest. This only made Harry laugh harder, snickers muffled behind his too-large hands. 

 

"Shut up, Boo, I like it," He smiled, and suddenly, Louis wasn't worried about feeling to small anymore.

 

"Well, like it or not, I'm still tall enough to kiss you," he said, and he could almost hear the blood rush to Harry's cheeks as the younger boy flushed. 

 

"Are not. You'd have to stand on your tip-toes."

 

"How about I stand on your toes," Louis growled, eyes narrowing, and Harry- the arrogant bastard- only laughed, shaking his head. His laughter turned into a wince, however, as Louis hopped onto Harry's feet, putting all his weight on the curly boy's toes - as promised.

 

"Ow," Harry winced, scowling but wrapping his fingers around Louis's hips, holding his balance.

 

"Not so small now, am I?" Louis cackled quietly, and Harry sighed, rolling his eyes.

 

"All right, I admit, you are a tall and fierce lion and I will never look down to you ever again. Happy?"

 

"Hmm…." Louis pretended to consider. Smiling, nervous flutters already working their way up his chest, he craned his neck to press his lips to Harry's for the fifth time in his life. Somehow, it was still just as wonderful as the first, and Louis could feel the heat in Harry's cheeks as their skin touched. "Now I am," Louis smiled to himself, satisfied, as he stepped off of Harry's feet and turned to face the curtain, feeling quite pleased with himself. He could practically feel Harry's stupefied gaze boring into the back of his head, and a wide grin cracked across his cheeks.

 

"Shut up, you two, and get into position," Liam whispered with a fond smile, and Louis smacked his leg before freezing into place.

 

Needless to say, the performance that followed was the best so far.

 

 

 

❡❡❡

 

 

 

The next morning, to all of the remaining contestants' relief, marked the first day of their pre-final break. The break would last one week, until the upcoming Sunday, and the contestants would be allowed to either stay in the X House or travel anywhere on the face of the earth, as long as they were back in London by six in the evening on Sunday the fifth. From then on, the week that would follow would be the busiest and most gruelling of the show, so they were all encouraged to take a decent time to relax and unwind, whether it be in the house or with friends and loved ones.

 

Harry didn't really have any plans for the break. He'd visited his family the week previously (due to that, er, rather embarrassing episode after Louis's discovery of his depression), and in all honesty, visiting Holmes Chapel would not be the ideal way to "relax" and "unwind" him. 

 

So, his plans were to stay here with Niall, Matt, and Wagner - the only other contestants who were staying in the house for the break - and grump away his time on the television and in the kitchen while his new...boyfriend (the word still made him blush) stayed with his family for six days. It would be the first time that Harry had spent more than one day away from Louis since arriving in the X House. 

 

It was going to be a long week, and Harry wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest. 

 

He was therefore in a rather horrible mood as he trundled down the stairs early Monday morning, a load of laundry in one arm and his pills rattling in the other. It was only eight, and despite the slight shaking in his fingers and the ache in his temple, he couldn't take the tablet yet. He grumbled to himself under his breath, muttering about abandonment and time warps as he shuffled across the floor and towards the laundry room.

 

Louis was quick to notice the grumpiness he was emitting, and his eyebrows rose across his forehead as Harry stomped into the kitchen. The curly-haired boy didn't seem to notice him as he tossed his pills noisily onto the counter and growled when he stubbed his toe on the tile.

 

"Well, good morning to you too, sunshine," Louis smiled crookedly, and Harry jumped about a mile into the air before spinning around and catching sight of Louis. His mood seemed to melt away as his face brightened, but an edginess still gripped his shoulders and neck.

 

"Hi," Harry smiled, opening a cupboard and pulling a pack of Boobears from a box. "Want one?" he added, and Louis nodded, surprised Harry had even had to ask. "Ah-ah-ah," Harry teased with a smile as Louis lunged for the bag, and Louis slunk back into his chair, pouting. "That wouldn't be any fun," Harry continued, tearing open the pack. "Want to play some snack-et-ball?" Louis's eyes brightened. They hadn't played snack-et-ball in quite awhile.

 

"Go for it," he grinned, tipping his chin back and opening his mouth. Harry tossed a gummy in the air, and Louis swerved to catch it, but missed, and the gummy slid down his shirt.

 

"Oh, Lou," Harry groaned, laying his head in his hands dramatically, and Louis frowned, eyebrows furrowing.

 

"Again!" he demanded, opening his mouth, and Harry grinned, emptying the pack into Louis's mouth one by one. 

 

"Louis takes the gold again!" Louis hollered, leaping into the air and onto the counter as he threw his arms over his head, quite possibly waking the entire northern side of London as he did so.

 

"Lou! Off the counter!" Zoe said sharply as she strode into the kitchen, wrapping an apron around her waist, and Louis snickered, climbing guiltily back into his chair. "Harry, these are for you, darling," Zoe added, setting a pair of Supras into Harry's hands, fresh from the wash. 

 

"Thanks, Zo," Harry smiled as Zoe nodded and grabbed a box of baking soda from the cupboard before sauntering back into the laundry room. "So," he continued, turning back to Louis and fishing a Boobear from the pack. "What are you doing up so early? I though you liked to sleep in."

 

"I do!" Louis reminded him, eyebrows raised, and Harry grinned. "I...Well, I know you're always up by eight, so I thought...Well..." He sighed, fingers fumbling in his hands. "I had something I wanted to ask you... Before the others were awake."

 

"Yeah?" Harry said, falling quiet as he eyed Louis.

 

“Well…I just…I mean…You know, well, our pre-finale break has just begun, and….a-and I…”

 

“Louis, what is it?” Harry asked lightly, finally setting his pair of Supras on top of the counter and taking a couple of steps towards the nervous Doncaster lad. 

 

“Erm…Well, like I said…The break…” Louis continued in an embarrassed mumble, wringing his hands anxiously before his waist, his hazel eyes darting to every corner of the room. 

 

“What about the break?” Harry asked curiously, his eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion as he struggled to comprehend why Louis was suddenly so nervous. 

 

“I…You…We…” Louis stuttered. Finally, he took a deep, shaky breath before allowing his gaze to lock onto Harry’s and coughing, “I thought that…Since you’ve made no plans for the b-break….You could…I dunno, come to D-Doncaster and…And meet my family?” he trailed off, his voice rising into a questionable squeak as he winced, and he froze. 

 

His shoulders tensed as he eyed Harry, waiting anxiously for his answer. Would he be frightened? Alarmed? …Repusled? 

 

He watched, his anxiety morphing into distress as Harry’s face bloomed with surprise, his wide green eyes blinking slowly back at him, his lips parting. I knew it. 

 

“Forget it,” Louis said quickly with a miserable wave of his hand, and his cheeks turned red with shame as he scowled down at the floor. “Screw it, it was a stupid question. Of course you wouldn’t want to—” 

 

Shock and warmth suddenly flooded his entire being as he was interrupted by something. Something lush…Something soft…Something very warm…Something humming with energy and sparks….Something perfect. 

 

Harry’s lips. 

 

Louis’s eyelids fluttered shut as his hands sprawled clumsily through the air around him, and a long moment later, when he had recovered from the unexpected kiss, he allowed himself to melt into the gesture, his own lips moving gently and snugly around Harry’s, that familiar, beautiful smattering of warmth and butterflies swooping low in his stomach as his skin sizzled with electricity. 

 

The kiss was over as soon as it had begun, to Louis’s great dismay, and the next moment, he was blinking dazedly and somewhat inebriatedly into Harry’s beaming face, his lips—God, those gorgeous lips—pink and shining with the sudden embrace. 

 

Him. Harry Styles had just kissed him. 

 

Yes, he and Harry had kissed before, but that had so far only involved Louis making the first move. 

 

Now….God, this must have meant that Harry was as infatuated with Louis as Louis was with Harry, right? It had to. A second smattering of butterflies erupted into the pit of his stomach at this wonderful thought. 

 

“W-What on earth was that?” Louis whispered, his voice cracked and high with the surprise and the indescribable feeling he had just experienced for the fourth time in his life. 

 

“That was an answer,” Harry said, and to Louis’s adoration, he realised that the Cheshire lad’s voice was shaking with mingled nerves and euphoria. If he had been somewhat more stable and in control of his emotions in that moment, he might have allowed his arms to link around the boy’s neck in one of their signature hugs and tugged him tightly to his chest, laughing slightly in his ear, but that simply wasn’t the case at the moment. 

 

“An a-answer?” Louis breathed, his blue eyes blown with emotion as he gazed fixatedly up into that dimpled face. 

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, a small smile now dawning his lips. “An answer to your question.” 

 

“You…You mean you’ll…You’ll come to Doncaster with me?” Louis asked, his eyes widening ever further. “Because if you won’t, you’re sending me some mixed signals here, Hazza,” he added quickly, his eyebrows rising. Harry laughed—one of his breathless, barky laughs he only ever emitted when he was with Lou—and his green eyes glimmered as he grinned down at the smaller boy before him. 

 

“Of course I’ll come,” he said gently. “I can’t imagine any other way to spend our break than with you, Boobear.” 

 

“Well,” Louis said shakily, his heart beating lightly in his ears with the excitement of Harry’s reply. “You…You could spend it here, listening to Wagner complain and watching films with Niall…” he joked. 

 

“True,” Harry shrugged, angling his torso towards Louis’s and letting his hands drop to his sides. “But if I stayed here with Niall, I couldn’t do this…” 

 

And with that, he stepped forward, finally allowing those large, soft palms to cup around the dips of Louis’s waist and slide to his lower back, fingers clasping together, and he gently tugged Louis forward into a warm hug. As if it were instinct, Louis’s hands snaked past the boy’s arms and tucked Harry’s neck into the crooks of his elbows, resting his chin on his shoulder and nuzzling his face into those curls. 

 

“That would be a bit of a let-down, wouldn’t it?” Louis murmured teasingly in Harry’s ear, a grin stretching across his lips. 

 

“You’re telling me,” Harry joked, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to Louis’s temple and stepping backwards, although his hands still lingered on Louis’s hips. His cheeks were still red; this level of affection and this particular mood was still so new to the two of them. “Well then, that’s all settled. Guess we better get packing, right?” 

 

“Packing?” Louis exclaimed indignantly, whining slightly as he gaped up at Harry. “Haz, we don't leave until tomorrow!

 

“With the way you pack, we’ll need all day, Boo,” Harry muttered darkly, shaking his head and chuckling as he laced his fingers through Louis’s and began to tug him towards the staircase, Louis screeching loudly in protest all the while. 

 

 

 

❡❡❡

 

 

 

“Ready to meet my family?” Louis asked with a grin, and Harry’s chest, already swarming with mingled anxiety and enthusiasm, filled with alarm; for Louis’s face could not possibly have held more excitement and glee as he bounced on the balls of his feet. 

 

The two of them stood on the Tomlinsons' front porch twenty-four hours later, the winter sun beating on their backs and shining over the wood.

 

“Erm…Yeah, of course,” Harry lied nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbling in his throat. 

 

At the obvious dishonesty in the lad’s face and voice, Louis seemed to freeze in mid air, his heels hovering solidly above the wood of the Tomlinsons’ porch as he gazed curiously up at Harry. 

 

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to meet my mum and sisters?” he asked, insecurity and nervousness suddenly lining his face, and at the pitiful sight of the older man’s crumpled face, Harry’s heart seemed to melt in his chest. 

 

“Yes, Lou, you know I do, it’s just…” Harry bit his lip. If he were to be honest with himself, he’d never traversed so far into a relationship as to reach the entire “Meet the Family” shebang. So, he had no experience whatsoever with dealing with overprotective parents and jealous siblings, and he wasn’t quite sure just how well he’d do. 

 

“Don’t worry,” Louis said gently, a wide smile working its way back onto his lips as comprehension dawned on his face. “I’m sure they’ll love you, Haz. Who wouldn’t?”

 

“Love me? No, no, no, I’m much more worried about just how weird they’ll be. I mean, they are related to you….”

 

A moment later, Harry was still wincing from the brand new bruise blooming across his shoulder that Louis had just delivered, chuckling with indignation. 

 

“I was just kidding,” Harry whined, sulking as he rubbed his shoulder tenderly, and he forced his lower lip forward into the severe pout that he knew Lou could never resist. 

 

“Stop that,” Louis muttered, his cheeks burning slightly as he struggled to tear his blue eyes from Harry’s mouth, and Harry grinned smugly as Louis pressed a forefinger to the bell situated beside the front door. Lou shot and eager smile in Harry’s direction as his fingers wiggled excitedly at his sides, and a moment later, the door swung open. 

 

“Louis!” Harry winced as he struggled to refrain from clamping his palms over his ears when a high-pitched squeal filled the air before him. 

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Louis grinned, his cheeks round as plumbs as an enormous grin stretched across his features and he bent to cup his hands round the small waist of a young, blonde-haired girl standing in the doorway. As Harry surveyed her, he realised that, by the cheeky smile and the startlingly blue eyes, she must be one of Louis’s sisters. He smiled fondly as Louis scooped her into the air to cradle him atop his hip, his eyes soft as clouds as he gazed into the face of the girl. 

 

She was…well, frankly adorable, Harry thought as he surveyed her. No more than four or five, she was the very picture of Louis, with her light swathe of soft hair and her almond-shaped eyes the colour of the sky, and Harry felt his own heart melting at the sight of her. No wonder Louis was so proud of his family.

 

“I missed you,” the little girl sulked, and Harry had to stop himself from laughing out loud at that familiar pout mastered her lower lip, the pout he so often saw upon Lou’s face. 

 

“Did you, now?” Louis challenged playfully, grinning and crossing his eyes for the child’s amusement. “As much as I missed you, by chance?” 

 

“More,” the girl insisted indignantly, and Louis chuckled. “Who’s that?” the girl suddenly asked, her little keen of a voice lowering as she noticed Harry standing awkwardly beside the pair of them, the luggage clutched in his fists. He blushed as Louis turned his gaze upon him and his eyes seemed to glow with sudden excitment. 

 

“This,” Louis said eagerly, as if he were a proud ringmaster finally introducing his foremost and most magnificent performance, “Is Harry. Haz, this is Phoebe, one of the twins.” He said proudly, and Phoebe ducked her head to nuzzle her face into Louis’s chest, peering shyly up at Harry and wiggling her fingers in greeting. 

 

“Hi, Phoebe,” Harry smiled, craning his neck slightly to wave happily to the younger girl. “I have heard so much about you, you know.” 

 

“Really?” she asked bashfully, grinning, her face still hidden in the shadow of Louis’s torso. 

 

“Of course,” Harry smiled. “And you know what, you are just as pretty as Louis said you were.” Phoebe’s blue eyes brightened as her cheeks flooded with pink heat, and as she buried her face shyly into the fabric of Louis’s jumper, Louis rolled his eyes, grinning up at Harry. 

 

“Don’t fall for his irresistible charm, Phoebe, you’ll be a right mess.” At this, of course, Harry’s cheeks burned to match those of the twin’s, and Louis winked triumphantly. 

 

“Like you?” Phoebe whispered teasingly in his ear, and now, naturally, it was Louis’s turn to flush with embarrassment. 

 

“Whatever, you silly thing,” he muttered, averting his eyes, and harry laughed quietly. “Let’s go inside and say hello to the rest of the girls, shall we?” he asked, and Phoebe nodded, wriggling out of Louis’s arms and grabbing his hand to drag him across the threshold. 

 

“C’mon,” she added shyly to Harry, who smiled and lifted the luggage through the door before setting it in the entry way. He glanced around as he stepped inside. Louis’s house may have appeared to be cozy from the street, but its exterior appearance had nothing on the environment within. 

 

The walls were painted a warm, comfortable shade of butter-cream, while the floors were composed of a homely, toasty cherry-wood. Soft, golden light filtered through small windows lining the walls. The floor was scattered with what looked like beheaded Barbie dolls, torn and juice-stained children’s books, up-ended gossip magazines, and small pink socks. Somehow, the mess of strewn objects only added to the snugness and warmth of the façade, and almost immediately, Harry felt quite at-home. He smiled to himself as he closed his eyes and basked in the clear toastiness of the area. 

 

“Louis’s back!” a pair of unfamiliar voices interrupted his thoughts, and he blinked as additional pair of young girls came scampering clumsily down the hallway, pleased as punch to have their elder brother back home. 

 

The first child, much smaller than the second, was completely identical to Phoebe, apart from the fact that she was dawning nothing but what was obviously a Little Mermaid costume, sea-green sequins falling from the outfit and trailing her path along the wooden floor as she pattered across the hallway. 

 

The other girl was clearly older than the two twins, by at least a couple of years. A mane of long, thick hair, identical in pigment to Louis’s, swung behind her, and her eyes appeared to be a strange infusion of blue and green. 

 

“Hey, lovelies,” Louis grinned, his eyes lighting as they dawned on his sisters, and it was clear that he could not possibly have been more pleased to see them once more. The second twin sprung immediately to Louis’s side, wrapping her small arms tightly around his knee and hopping onto his left shoe, and the older girl rushed forward to hug Louis by the waist, the crown of her head reaching his chest. 

 

“Hello,” she grinned, instantly turning to Harry and expressing her lack of shyness as she waved and surveyed him and down. “You were right,” she whispered to Louis with a giggle as her eyes locked on Harry’s. “He is pretty.” 

 

“Fizz,” Louis scolded her in a hiss, his face now redder than ever as he glared into her face, but Harry only grinned, flattered as the girl bounded to his side. “This is Felicite,” Louis sighed. “But she likes to go by Fizzy, for some reason.” 

 

“Shut up,” Fizzy grumbled, rolling her eyes dramatically before wiggling her fingers towards Harry and bouncing back down the hallway, shrieking, “Mum, Louis and Harry are here!” 

 

“Who’s this?” Harry asked fondly, crouching to kneel before the second twin, now giggling heartily into Louis’s leg as her ears turned red.

 

“This rascal here is Daisy,” Louis smiled, chuckling and mussing the ice-blonde head of the young girl. “Be careful, Daisy-Maisy, he’s already enticed your sister,” he added in a playful whisper, and Harry rolled his eyes, smiling widely as he waved towards Daisy and rose to his feet. 

 

“Go on, say hi!” Louis encouraged, smiling as he patted Daisy’s shoulder, and Daisy turned her head shyly, grinning, to whisper, “Hi, Lou's Hazza." 

 

“Hello—Wait, what?" Harry asked, frowning slightly in confusion as the girl smiled with that peculiar greeting. Had she just called him Lou’s Hazza?

 

"Whenever Lou talks about you, he calls you 'His Hazza,' so I said—”

 

"That's enough, Daisy!" Louis said hastily, his ears now as red as a fire engine as he bit his lip embarrassedly and placed a palm over the giggling twin's lips. Harry, on the other hand, was blushing just as furiously, and he pursed his lips in a feeble attempt to stifle the giddy, love-struck grin tugging at his mouth. His Hazza? Louis called him His Hazza. That was just...

 

“She and Lottie have been waiting all week for you, they have,” Louis chuckled nervously in an attempt to change the subject, nodding towards the young girl. 

 

“Lottie?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing, and Louis opened his mouth to reply. Before he could offer an explanation, however, a rumble of light footsteps sounded from the floor above, and Harry glanced up in alarm as a voice sounded from the staircase sitting a few yards off from the entryway. 

 

“Is he here yet?” a fourth voice chorused anxiously, and Harry blinked as another girl appeared at the top of the stairs, clearly the eldest of the bunch. “Is he—Oh,” she whispered, freezing as she caught sight of Harry. 

 

“Speak of the devil,” Louis chuckled. “Lottie, come down here and meet Harry.” 

 

“Hi,” Harry said brightly, grinning as the girl called Lottie slowly stumbled down the stairs, her ocean-blue eyes wide as she approached the two boys. At Harry’s greeting, her cheeks turned a startling shade of scarlet, just like her brother’s. 

 

“H-Hi,” she stuttered nervously, swallowing as her eyelashes fluttered, and beside him, Louis suppressed a snort. 

 

“I’m Harry,” Harry said, extending his hand. 

 

“I know,” Lottie breathed, eyes rounder than dinner plates as a terrified, fluttery smile dawned her lips, and she shakily placed her fingers in Harry’s, shaking his hand. At the contact, her cheeks burned only more brightly, if that was anatomically possible, and her eyes flickered to Louis, ecstasy shining behind the blue. 

 

“Nice to meet you…” Harry said slowly, a mild confusion enveloping his mind as she tightened her grip on his fingers, refraining from releasing his hand. Louis rolled his eyes. 

 

“Okay, Lottie, that’s enough,” he said, irked, and he gently gave Lottie’s arm a playful shove. Lottie, still red in the face, stuck her tongue out in his direction, and Harry chuckled. At the sound of his laughter, her eyes flitted immediately back to Harry, and she smiled bashfully. She opened and closed her mouth several times before realizing she was not about to say anything anytime soon, and she spun on the spot, muttering, “I’ll go get mum, then.” Harry cocked an eyebrow, turning questioningly to Louis, who only rolled his eyes, grinning. 

 

“Don’t mind Lottie. She’s too hormonal for her own good at the moment.” Harry laughed, but the sound died in his throat immediately as he caught sight of a fifth female, this one looking to be in her middle ages, and he realised that this must be Louis’s mum. 

 

Her skin was tanned and rich, although it seemed slightly faded with exhaustion, and crinkles lined her hazel eyes. Her caramel-coloured hair, its shade identical to that of Louis’s, was tugged into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She looked worn and tired, yet kind and anxious. She looked like a mother. 

 

Harry clasped his hands respectfully behind his back as he swallowed nervously and anticipated her greeting. As the woman stepped forward, she beamed happily up at Louis, sighing proudly and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck while Louis whispered, “Hi, mum.” 

 

“Oh, Lou, I’ve missed you, love.” She murmured, pecking him affectionately on the forehead before relinquishing her grasp and finally turning to face Harry. 

 

“Haz, meet my mum, Jay.” Louis smiled nervously, his fingers laced through his mother’s as he nodded politely in Harry’s direction. 

 

“It’s, erm, lovely to meet you,” Harry said anxiously, an edgy smile on his lips as he extended his hand, and he sighed with relief as Jay eyed him closely before slowly taking his hand, squeezing it gently. 

 

“Hello, Harry,” Jay said softly, although Harry could hear the measuring tone in her voice as she spoke. 

 

“You…You have a fantastic home,” Harry added timidly, struggling to search for things to say. 

 

“Thank you, that’s very kind.” Jay murmured in reply, her eyes holding nothing but worry and scrutiny as she gazed over his figure, assessing him. Swallowing, Harry shot a frantic glance towards Louis, who simply smirked, and Harry sighed, wishing Lou would help him out here. 

 

Finally, Harry blinked with relief as one of the twins called, “Mum, Daisy’s taken my crayons!” And Jay was forced to turn from the group, sending Louis a pointed look as she did so, and trot up the stairs. Harry’s eyes widened as he glared expectantly at Lou, and once the two boys were sure Jay had vanished into the twins’ room, Louis burst into silent giggles, clutching his ribs.

 

“Oh, you think it’s funny, watching me suffer like that?” Harry teased sarcastically, although a reluctant smile was pushing at his lips. He couldn’t resist that smile, that laugh…God. 

 

“Calm down, Haz, it’s perfectly fine,” Louis chuckled, reaching forward to slide his arm happily around Harry’s waist and tug him towards what appeared to be the common room, where a large sofa and an armchair sat huddled round a coffee table and a small television set. It was charming, to be put lightly. Harry smiled comfortably as Louis dragged him onto a small loveseat and crawled into his lap, smiling as he played with the curls above Harry’s ear. Harry smiled shyly, cheeks pinkening as Louis’s fingers brushed his skin. “She’s trying to figure out what you are to me,” Louis continued, elaborating on his mum’s reaction towards Harry. 

 

“D-Doesn’t she think we’re friends?” Harry asked, shaping his torso around Louis’s shoulders and letting his fingers trail to the hem of the older boy’s shirt. 

 

“Well, that’s what she knows she’s suppose to think,” Louis shrugged. “But she can see that there’s…Well, something deeper going on.” 

 

“She’s not wrong,” Harry smiled, his green eyes locking on Louis’s, and Louis smiled into his face, those blue orbs mesmerizing. 

 

“That’s for sure,” Louis chuckled, his face inches from that of the curly-haired lad, “Would a friend do this?” He leaned forward and allowed to lips to slowly, silently shape themselves around Harry’s, and almost immediately, Harry’s heart leaped into his throat. He would never get over the body-shocking experience of kissing the beautiful, perfect boy above him, no matter how many times he felt his warmth and his softness. His breath fell shakily from his lips in a trembling laugh as Louis gently getached his lips from Harry’s and smiled, nudging his nose with his own like a pleased puppy. 

 

“Maybe not,” Harry whispered, still shaking slightly, and Louis bit his lip shyly, their eyes locking on one another’s. The two of them gazed shyly at one another, both delighted with their relationship and giddy with mirth, it was nearly overwhelming, and yet, Harry had never felt anything more perfect in his life. 

 

“You two will get on perfectly,” Louis murmured, pecking Harry playfully on the tip of the nose, and Harry smiles, curling like a kitten beneath Louis’s grasp, and Louis chuckled once more. “She just needs to figure out exactly what’s going on first. If there’s one thing she doesn’t like, it’s secrecy.” 

 

“Aha, so that’s why you can’t keep a secret to save your life,” Harry teased, grinning as he let his head flop onto Louis’s shoulder, and Louis pretended to gasp in mock-outrage. 

 

“How dare you, Harold! I can so keep a secret! In fact, for years I have kept the secret that Fizzy has a crush on Taylor Lautner. But don’t tell anyone, that’s meant to be kept quiet!” He grinned, exceedingly pleased with himself as Harry began laughing wildly into his shoulders, shaking with giggles as Louis spoke, and he wiped a tear of mirth from his eye as he glanced up, grinning, and found himself captivated once more by those beautiful blue eyes. 

 

…How in the name of all that existed had he gotten so incredibly lucky? Here he was, wrapped around the most amazing boy in the world….What could he have ever done to deserve this? 

 

“You’re doing that thing again,” Louis grinned, his nose wrinkling adorably as his eyes wrinkled with fondness. 

 

“What?” Harry asked stupidly, his mouth hanging open and his deep, gravelly mumble contrasting unbelievably with Louis’s concise, clear trill.

 

“You keep looking at me in this strange way,” Louis smirked, eyebrows waggling. 

 

“In what way?” Harry asked, clueless as ever, and Louis giggled. 

 

“Like…I dunno, like you can’t quite believe I’m here.”

 

“Well,” Harry shrugged, squirming antsily as his cheeks morphed into a pale shade of maroon. “I..I can’t, to be honest.” 

 

“Oh? And why’s that, young Harold?” 

 

“Look at yourself,” Harry chuckled fondly, an adoring grin crossing his mouth as he pressed his forehead to Louis’s and nuzzled into his embrace. Louis smiled and blushed, his eyelids fluttering modestly. 

 

“What’re you talking about?” he mumbled embarrassedly, ducking his head shyly into his chest, and Harry rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to the top of Louis’s head. 

 

Louis may not have known just how flawless he was. But if there was anyone who did know...

 

Well. That would be Harry.

 

 

 

❡❡❡

 

 

 

Louis William Tomlinson was, perhaps, one of the only teen boys alive to ever entertain himself with Barbies alongside his little sisters. Strangely enough, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it, either. It was simply fun, the way he could use the oddly disproportionate dolls to create and produce alternate realities. It was like his own dramatic episode of Doctor Who. Of course, Phoebe and Daisy tended to grow upset whenever he found ways to work nine hundred million-year-old aliens and sonic screwdrivers of extermination into the recreation. To his delight, however, Harry—the first of his mates to ever witness him engaging in such play with his siblings—was highly amused by the bits and snippets Louis oh-so-creatively devised. 

 

“Louis, it’s time for Ken to pick Barbie up for their date!” Phoebe whined impatiently as she shook the half-dressed doll clutched in her small fist, the smile painted across its face staring creepily at each person in the room. 

 

“Oh, goodness, you’re right!” Louis gasped with mock-astonishment, pretending to press his mouth to his lips, and rolling his eyes exasperatedly at Harry, who giggled. “I’ll just get him into his, er….coach,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief as he crammed the creepy doll into the plastic vehicle, a shade of pink as violent as that of a bottle of Peptobismal. 

 

“Okay…” Louis began, a sly smile creeping onto his lips as he began to nudge the odd toy across the carpet. “He’s going…He’s going…He’s…He’s—Oh no! What’s going on—the wind—Harry, save us!” Louis yelped dramatically as his eyes widened, and he began to fling the toy roughly about the floor. “Whoosh! Ken’s been sucked into the perimeter of the time vortex!” 

 

Phoebe pouted, glaring exasperatedly at Louis as Harry erupted into earnest laughter, his curls flopping behind his head as he rolled backwards across the carpet, clutching his chest with violent giggles. Louis grinned, pleased that he’d amused the lad, and Daisy, who had been watching nearby, emitted a reluctant chuckle as she peered over her bony knees. 

 

“You’re no fun,” Phoebe pouted with as much sassiness in her tone as Louis carried in his, and this, of course, only caused Harry to laugh ever harder. The young twin set her Barbie carefully onto the carpet before rising to her pudgy feet and pressing her lower lip forward in a severe sulk. As she began to turn away and stomp towards the kitchen, Harry shakily brought himself into a sitting position, the grin still wide across his red lips as he shook with laughter. 

 

“N-No, Phoebe, I’m sorry I laughed,” he chuckled. “C’mere, love.” Phoebe continued to pout, tucking her chin into her chest and glaring at the curly-haired boy before she relented with a small sigh and wriggled reluctantly across the carpet. “There we go,” Harry grinned with a small grunt as Phoebe huddled into his torso and he wrapped his arms around her hips, hoisting her through the air and onto his hip. “Don’t worry, we won’t laugh anymore, all right?” he chuckled quietly, craning his neck to peer into Phoebe’s small, sulking face. 

 

“He will,” Phoebe screeched indignantly, scowling as she jabbed a stubby finger in Louis’s direction, and Louis grinned wickedly. 

 

“Oh, I think I can keep him in line,” Harry laughed, and despite her annoyance, Phoebe giggled reluctantly. “Here, let’s get Barbie’s nice…er, skirt back on, shall we?” Harry asked, one arm still tucked comfortingly around Phoebe’s small figure as he scooped the doll into his free hand. Louis watched in mingled awe and amusement as Harry and the young girl played with the Barbie, the boy’s eyes soft as he smiled gently down at the twin, and Phoebe’s eyes round with excitement as she fumbled with the doll in her small hands. He knew Harry was a fan of children, but he had never realised how skilled he seemed to be with them. 

 

“Harry, her arm!” Phoebe screeched with panic, mouth round and eyes widening with horror as Barbie’s arm was suddenly snapped from its socket, leaving a gaping hole of plastic in the doll and a shiny, tanned limb in her palm. Louis sighed frustratedly as Phoebe’s face began to pucker with tears. He rose to his feet, ready to comfort her. It took ages to get one of the twins to stop crying; this was going to be a long night. 

 

“Sh, Pheebs, don’t cry. It’ll be all right,” Harry hushed her gently, taking the doll and its arm from her hand. “Watch, I’ll fix it, okay?”

 

To Louis’s great surprise, Phoebe sniffled and pushed her lip forward in a sulk, her tears ceasing. What on earth? It sometimes took hours to calm her down, yet this particular tantrum had lasted mere seconds?

 

He gazed with wonder as Harry carefully locked the arm back into place, twisting the piece of plastic, and handing it proudly to the girl in his arms. 

 

“There, see? Everything’s fine.” 

 

Yes, Louis thought tenderly, throat suddenly painfully tight as his eyes grew hot and wet, and he bit his lip as he gazed helplessly down at the touching scene before him; Harry’s arms wrapped gently and protectively around the younger girl like a father would a daughter. Yes, it is.

 

Louis glanced up as a shadow appeared in the doorway of the living room and saw his mother hovering anxiously over the group. Harry hadn't seemed to notice, however, and he smiled as he continued to play with the little girl in his arms. He really did like kids, he realised; he just hadn't been around enough of them to know this. In all honesty, he was probably having a little too much fun playing dolls with the child.

 

“Harry? A word?” Harry froze as Jay’s voice reached his ears, and he turned, suddenly feeling a lot less relaxed than he had a moment ago. Jay lingered in the doorway, face curious but kind, and Harry bit his lip, wondering what on earth she wanted to speak with him about. 

 

“Yeah, all right,” he said, much more casually than he was really feeling, and he gently battled Louis’s grabby fingers from the hem of his shirt before slipping into the kitchen after Jay.

 

“There’s no need to look so frightened, darling,” Jay chuckled, smiling slightly as Harry eyed her apprehensively, anxiety churning n his stomach. 

 

“I-I know,” he attempted to laugh airily, although if he were to be completely honest with himself, the sound falling from his lips seemed to resemble more of a stuttery cough. Jay tutted sympathetically. 

 

“Honestly, Harry, it’s all right,” she smiled, gently cupping a hand around Harry’s shoulder, and at her motherly touch, he found himself relaxing somewhat. “I’d just like to understand…” Jay continued, hesitating slightly at her eyes darting about the room. “To...To understand what intentions you have with my son.” 

 

Harry blinked slowly. Well, if he’d been expecting anything, it most certainly wasn’t that. Intentions? 

 

He suddenly felt exceedingly awkward, as if a stern father was speaking to him about exactly what “intentions” he had in mind when it came to dating his daughter. Well, in this case, that daughter happened to be Louis. 

 

God, could the situation possibly have been any more uncomfortable? 

 

“Intentions?” he echoed his thoughts, eyebrows furrowing as lips puckering as they always did when he was under great concentration.

 

“Yes,” Jay sighed, looking as if she regretted the question. “The thing is….Harry, I know the two of you have told me that you’re just ‘friends,’ but…Well, I’ve known Louis for nearly nineteen years; I can read him like a children’s book. And you…I’m sorry, love, but you’re a rather horrid liar.” Hay smiled sadly, and at this, Harry finally emitted an honest laugh. 

 

“I know,” he sighed, his eyes beginning to fly nervously about his surroundings. He had truly hoped he wouldn’t find himself in this particular situation, in which Jay demanded from him the truth. He did felt quite awful for being dishonest with her in the past about the relationship between he and Lou, and it was true—He could lie about as well as a seahorse could square dance. What choice did he have but to tell Jay the truth? 

 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, whatever the truth is, I won’t be upset,” Jay soothed him quietly, squeezing his shoulder, and Harry sighed. He was quite cornered, now, wasn’t he?

 

“A-Alright,” he whispered, his voice beginning to shake slightly as the nerves bubbled in his chest. “Erm…Well, I’m sorry that Lou and I haven’t been completely…Er, truthful with you, up until now, but…Well, if you want the truth…”

 

“Yes?” Jay coaxed him quietly, a look of concerned attentiveness plain on her kind face, and Harry swallowed around the tight lump that had lodged itself in his throat. 

 

“The truth is…I’m in love with your son, Jay,” Harry whispered, his heart beginning to beat wildly as he spoke the words. “I’m in love with Louis, and…And I’m fairly certain he feels the same way about me.”

 

He winced, watching and waiting with great trepidation for Jay’s reaction, but she simply nodded boredly, blinking slowly as if they were talking about the evening forecast.

 

“…What?” Harry asked blankly, slightly taken aback as his mouth dropped open and he gazed down at the woman. He had honestly thought his dramatic confession would result in a more surprised and unforeseen reaction from Jay. “I don’t even get a gasp?” 

 

At this, Jay laughed, her hazel eyes twinkling and he caramel-coloured hair falling about her face. Smiling heartily, she looked up into Harry’s gaze.

 

“I’m sorry, sweetie, but it takes a lot to earn a reaction from me. I’ve got blooming celebrity of a son and four very hormonal daughters; I’ve seen it all.” At this, Harry chuckled, his head nodding considerately, and Jay smiled. 

 

“It wasn’t difficult to tell, either. The way you are with each other,” she continued with a chuckle, eyes twinkling fondly. “I just….I just need to you understand what kind of commitment you’re making here, love. Lou…He’s…Well, he’s a bit immature for his age, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. He may be legal, but trust me when I say he’s a bigger handful than five-year-old triplets.”

 

“You’re telling me,” Harry laughed, eyes twinkling with both adoration and exasperation as he thought of the childish boy. “I’m a witness.”

 

“I’m sure,” Jay smiled warmly. “I just…There are a few things you should know…” She bit her lips, her eyes darting questioningly back and forth between each of Harry’s eyes, as if she were questioning whether she should release the statements pressing at her lips. With a sigh, she seemed to relent with a roll of her eyes, and she began speaking in a flurry. 

 

“If you’re going to be spending a lot of time with him, just remember that he’s got a lot of strange quirks. He never cleans up after himself, and he seems to be unable to thrive in an environment unless it’s dangerously messy. He never sort his lights from his darks when he does the washing, so you’ll have to go through and make sure they’re separated before he cleans a load. Somehow, he always manages to get out of doing dishes, so keep an eye on him if he’s told to clean up after meals, and he’s absolutely horrid at washing silverware, so be sure to run them through the dishwasher before drying them. For some reason, he always needs to have his sandwiches cut into fourths, or else he won’t eat them, and he doesn’t drink anything other than alcohol, orange juice, and tea. Speaking of tea, he always takes a capful of cream and about six or seven heaping tablespoons of sugar, although I try to slip in four or five,” she added in a hushed whisper, and Harry grinned, his eyes slightly wide with the amount of information being thrown at him.

 

“And Harry, whatever you do, if he manages to get his hands on some coffee, make sure it’s decaf. You don’t want to know what happened the last time he had a barrel-full of caffeine running through his system. He adores cookie dough, but if you ever let him have some, only give him a small amount, or else he’ll have half the roll down his throat in a matter of seconds. He needs to take calcium supplements every evening before bed, because he hates the taste of milk. However, make sure you buy him the gummy kinds shaped like Power-Rangers, because those are the only ones he’ll eat. Also, he’s an absolute whiner when it comes to small things like cuts and burns, and he shrieks like a baby whenever he gets his flu vaccine, so make sure you bring along an an ice lolly and guarantee a trip to Pizza Hut afterwards, because he’ll downright refuse the injection if he doesn’t have his promises in order.” Jay took a long, deep breath, her eyes flitting around the room as she struggled to remember anything else she needed to add. “Oh, and don’t forget, whenever he drives the car—” 

 

“He always forgets the key in the ignition,” Harry interrupted her, his eyes focused and concentrated as he completed her sentence. “And he never remembers to fill the tank, so he’s always calling the service station to drop of a couple of gallons. He somehow always manages to leave the lights on, and the bulbs burn out. He’s terrified of the dark, and he’ll only sleep with a nightlight unless someone else is with him. He always puts fashion before fitness, so he’ll walk outside in Toms and shorts even if its hailing, and I need to be sure to bring a jacket along in case he begins to complain.” 

 

Jay’s eyes had grown to the size of saucers as she gaped openly up at Harry, astounded with how much of her firstborn child he already seemed to understand perfectly. As she blinked slowly, eyelashes fluttering, she seemed to recover, and she closed her lips hastily before challenging, “And when he cooks?” 

 

“He’s a horrid cook,” Harry grins, “But he loves to try, so whenever he does, I need to make sure he wears an apron lest he spill food down his front, and I need to stay in the room with him in case he starts a kitchen fire.” Harry had learned that tidbit of information from personal experience; he winced at the shameful memory of the flames Louis had somehow ignited in the kitchen of the X House simply by toasting a bagel. 

 

Jay nodded quickly, still seeming quite taken aback. 

 

“What about when he’s upset, Harry?” she asked him gently, her eyes eager for his response, yet quite tender. “What do you when my son isn’t happy?”

 

“Whatever I can,” Harry whispered immediately, not hesitating in replying. “It’s quite simple, most of the time,” he chuckled adoringly, his eyes lighting. “Usually, I can just tell one of my horrid jokes, or start to tickle him, and that smile will be back on his face in a nanosecond. But sometimes,” he continued, his voice lowering to adopt a tone of mingled secrecy and embarrassment. “Sometimes…I suppose, things go a bit…A bit deeper than that. He seems like a shallow lad, doesn’t he? One who’s always bouncing around, never a dull moment in his life? But he’s… God, he’s so much more. You’d know that better than anyone, though, I suppose.” He admitted shyly, glancing anxiously down at Jay, who nodded thoughtfully. “Whenever he’s quite upset,” Harry continued, his voice sinking further into a whisper. “He seems so…Lost. Like he’s never been so lonely or so confused in his life. He’s very independent, your son, but sometimes…Sometimes, I don’t think he wants to be.” He confessed, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips puckering as he reflected upon the words falling freely from his mouth. “I try my very best to make him feel like he’s notalone, because as long I’m living and breathing, he never will be. I can promise you that.” He finished quietly. Jay’s eyes had rounded and softened to the point in which Harry had begun to blush furious with their complete, obvious tenderness. Suddenly, he was feeling quite red in the face, and distinctly embarrassed. To his relief, a gentle, genuine smile had finally begun to erase Jay’s serious, contemplating countenance. 

 

“I like you, Harry,” she chuckled fondly. “I like how happy you seem to make my son,” she added softly, turning to gaze tenderly towards her eighteen-year-old eldest as he bounced eagerly around the living room. 

 

Louis was wearing a grin the size of the sun, and as he wrapped his arms affectionately around the waist of one of the twins, digging his knuckles gently into her sides, he sent high-pitched squeals of laughter falling from her tiny, red lips. As the young girl wriggled free from his graps, she spund clumsily around in louis’s lap, and suddenly, it was the older man who was being tickled by the small twin. 

 

“No, Phoebe! Phoebe, stop! Stop that!” Louis began shrieking, giggling madly to himself as he leaped from his spot on the sofa and began hopping spasmodically about the living room, sending flower vases flying and crushing crayons beneath his slippered feet. 

 

“No, Fizzy! You can’t have it! You can’t have my phone!” Louis squealed, face bright with panic as Fizzy lunged for the mobile in his front pocket.

 

“How come?” Fizzy was leering, grinning as she swung the phone in the air teasingly. “Do you have messages from Harry on here?”

 

“Yes, and those are private!” Louis screeched, scowling as he grabbed the phone from her hand, batting Phoebe away. 

 

“Louis loves Harry, Louis loves Harry!” Phoebe began to sing, jeering immaturely as she taunted him, and Louis huffed, ears bright red while he crossed his arms defensively over his chest. 

 

At this, Harry smiled, his cheeks turning to the colour of strawberries as he bit his lip and shyly watched the beautiful boy bounce across the floor. As he turned back to Jay, he found that her eyes had locked on the blush of his cheeks, her eyes twinkling, and he hastily slid his gaze to the floor shuffling slightly. 

 

“It’s all right,” Jay chuckled. “I remember when I fell in love.” Harry blinked slowly, frowning as he comprehended the meaning behind her words.

 

In love.

 

The words had always seemed to imply such an….incredulous aura, as if it were a possibility that was, in Harry’s case, very rare, and definitely far off into the future—at least further into the future than age sixteen. 

 

And yet…The words seemed to apply perfectly to what he felt for Louis.

 

Love. He’d never felt such a…a strong, powerful, mind-numbing connection and devotion towards another person before. He’d never felt the way about any other than he did about Louis, and the strange thing was, he couldn’t possibly picture himself doing so in the future. There was no one but Louis.

 

As his eyes shyly met Jay’s and a tiny, knowing smile curled the line of her rosy lips, a brief, glorious understanding blossomed between them, and Harry found himself thinking with a strange, beautiful mixture of surprise, disbelief, and complete, total bliss….

 

….That yes, this was most definitely love.


	24. Kiss Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's, loves <3

❡❡❡

 

 

 

"No."

 

"Yes!"

 

"No."

 

"Yes."

 

"No way!"

 

"Yes way!"

 

"Felicite Tomlinson..."

 

"Harold Styles..." The young girl teased him in reply, leering playfully up at the curly-haired boy with a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon plastered across her lips.

 

"No, Fizz! We are not doorbell-darting your neighbors at nine o'clock in the evening, all right? Louis, help me out here."

 

"Are you kidding me?" Fizz snapped sassily, and Harry had to repress the giggles bubbling at his lips as he noticed just how much the young girl resembled her brother. "Half the time, Lou's the one to talk us into these pranks." Harry turned, eyebrows rising as he glared questioningly at Louis, who had glanced up at the arguing pair from his spot on the Tomlinsons' back porch, his face riddled with pleased guilt.

 

"I was drunk?" he offered feebly with a timid shrug, and Harry rolled his eyes with a snort.

 

"No means no," he said sternly, smiling as he turned to tap Fizz's nose with the tip of his finger, and the young girl giggled reluctantly.

 

"Harry's right," a third, bossier voice declared, and Harry turned to see Lottie standing stoutly by his side, hip popped as she looked down upon her sister.

 

"Thanks, Lottie," Harry smiled wryly, clapping a hand upon Lottie's shoulder and frowning in surprise as the girl's cheeks began to slowly flush with magenta. "We're staying on your property," he continued, nodding towards Felicite. "Right, Lou?"

 

"Mm, sure, whatever," Louis waved offhandedly, not quite listening as he studied the wrapper plastered to the beer bottle in his fist.

 

"Don't worry, Harry, I'll make sure they stay here." Lottie said shyly, smiling up into Harry's face and straightening slightly at his side.

 

"Uh, great," Harry grinned, eyes narrowing with confusion as he nodded politely towards Lottie. "See, Fizz, Lottie listens," he added teasingly, poking the younger of the two girl playfully in the side. Fizz reacted with a smattering of giggles, face lighting as she hopped spasmodically across the grass of the backyard, and Lottie's cheeks only continued to burn with bashfulness.

 

"You need to get to bed, silly," Harry added as Fizz collapsed onto the soft stretch of grass, her giggles muffling the yawn tugging at her small mouth. "C'mon, you, Lou and I will tuck you in."

 

"Me too. I need to get to bed too," Lottie added, pushing her lower lip forward in a ridiculously exaggerated pout as she batted her eyelashes.

 

"Since when?" Fizz gaped, eying her older sister incredulously, eyes wide with surprise. "Lottie, you never go to bed before midni-"

 

"Oh, I'm so tired," Lottie interrupted her pointedly with an enormous, suspiciously loud yawn, giving the girl a dangerous glare, and Fizz snickered. "Harry, you should tuck me in too." Lottie added, face full of overstated innocence as she laced her small hand through Harry's, tugging at his fingers.

 

"Uh..." Harry blinked stupidly, not quite sure why the girl was suddenly hanging all over him.

 

"Lottie fancies Harry," Fizz sang gleefully, blue eyes alight with mischief, and Harry's eyes widened with realisation. Was that why Lottie was behaving so oddly? Well.

 

"Fizz, shut up!" Lottie whined, face posititvely glowing with embarrassment as she glowered down at the younger girl sprawled in the grass, and Fizz laughed, rolling her eyes.

 

"Lottie and Harry, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love-"

 

"Okay, Fizzy, that's enough," Harry mumbled hastily, eyes round with uncertainty as he glanced towards Louis, pleading silently for help. The Doncaster boy had set his beer slowly down upon the wood of the porch, squinting suspiciously through the dark night and towards the girl clinging to Harry's arm.

 

"That's ridiculous, Fizz!" Lottie stomped her foot dramatically into the soft bed of lawn beneath her. "Harry and I do not fancy one another! You know what?" she asked, turning seriously to eye Harry, blue eyes wide with chasteness and exaggerated innocence. "We should kiss just to prove her wrong!"

 

Harry seemed to choke on his own breath at the same moment that Louis spluttered a mouthful of beer across the porch, eyes rounder than golfballs as he gazed dumbfoundedly at his younger sister. Harry's mouth had fallen open as he glanced questioningly between the serious face of Lottie to the thrilled countenance of Fizzy, who could not seem to stop giggling.

 

"Lottie!" Louis shrieked furiously, leaping to his feet, and Lottie smiled slightly, eyebrows rising as challengingly she pressed herself to Harry's lean torso. "That's enough!"

 

"What's enough?" Harry asked as Lottie began to scowl sulkily towards the ground. "She was kidding, wasn't she?"

 

"Sure," Fizz snickered, clutching her sides as she rolled across the lawn, face pinched with amusement. "Gee, you sure are stupid, Harry."

 

"Fizzy, that's not nice," a fifth voice was added to the din, and Harry glanced up in relief to see Jay step into the cold evening air. "You two-inside. Time to brush your teeth." She added, nodding towards the two girls. Fizzy groaned, eyebrows scrunching grumpily.

 

"I'm not tired," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

"Well, maybe when you're ready for bed, the boys can play a game with you, all right?" Jay sighed, turning hopefully towards Harry, who smiled and nodded with a shrug.

 

"But mum," Lottie whined, tightening her fingers around Harry's. "Can't I stay out here with Hazza?" Harry blinked incredulously as she used his nickname-the nickname devised for him by Louis and that was used by Louis alone-and pursed his lips in surprise.

 

"That tears it," Louis growled, and Harry laughed slightly, expecting Louis to be grinning playfully, but to his surprise, an expression of sheer anger and bitterness had plastered itself across the boy's sharp face. "Get away from him, Lottie, now."

 

"Why? It's not like he's yours, or anything." Lottie snapped, her free hand moving to rest itself upon her popped hip as she glared sassily up at her brother, and she only clutched more tightly to Harry's hand.

 

"Yes, he is!" Louis screeched furiously. Harry blinked, his own cheeks growing as red as Lottie's as Louis spoke, and as he glanced towards the porch, he realised that Jay was beaming fondly down at he and her son, a knowing, adoring smile tugging at her lips.

 

Had Louis just called him his? His Harry. Louis's Harry.

 

It did not surprise Harry just how much he loved the sound of those words.

 

Repressing the tiny, joyous grin pulling anxiously at his mouth, he gently detached his hand from Lottie's and ushered her towards the porch.

 

"Fine," Lottie pouted, glaring spitefully at her brother. "I'll go. See you later, Harry," she sighed wistfully, sending Harry a long, pining glance and nearly causing Louis to jump out of his skin with agitation.

 

"Just get inside, will you?" he hollered, and Lottie waved him away bitterly before disappearing into the house.

 

"Calm down, Louis, and don't talk to your sister like that," Jay frowned sternly, but Harry could see the delighted expression looming beneath the disapproval in her face. She sent Harry a charmed wink before rolling her eyes fondly towards her son and following the two girls into the house.

 

"What was that all about?" Harry chuckled, eyebrows shooting across his forehead as Louis flopped dramatically onto the porch with a sassy harrumph of annoyance.

 

"Oh, sure, you can laugh," Louis sniped sarcastically, lips twisted into an unpleasant scowl. Somehow, despite the ugly expression upon his face, he still managed to look absolutely gorgeous, as Harry noticed quite clearly. "Your little sister isn't hitting on your boyfriend."

 

Harry's heart leaped at the word "Boyfriend." How long had he waited to hear that from Louis's mouth?

 

"Louis Tomlinson," Harry began, a grin beginning to stretch slowly across his face. "You couldn't possibly be jealous, could you?"

 

"I am not," Louis seethed, ears morphing to the colour of strawberries as he glared determinedly up at Harry.

 

"I think you are," Harry teased, his tongue poking playfully between his teeth as he grinned, giggling madly.

 

"Harry Styles..."

 

"You know how cute you are when you're jealous?" Harry continued, ignoring Louis, and this of course only caused Louis to blush more furiously. For half a second, a flicker of a shy, delighted little smile tugged at the older boy's lips, but he struggled to force it back behind his glare and folded his arms tightly across his chest.

 

"I swear to God, if you say one more word..."

 

"What will you do? Bitch-slap me?" Harry taunted, a wide grin crossing his lips, and Louis gasped, eyes widening and lips pursing sassily. He rose dramatically to his feet, sending Harry a very challenging glare. Harry was once more awed by the amount of sass one person could possibly contain.

 

"Styles..." Louis growled, eyebrows arching as his shoulders tensed.

 

"Tommo," Harry teased in reply, his smile widening.

 

"That's it," Louis snarled playfully. "I warned you."

 

"Warned me of what? You wouldn't really slap me, would you?" Harry asked sulkily, allowing his eyes to melt in a way that he knew drove Louis nuts.

 

"'Course not," Louis smirked as he began to stride quickly towards Harry. "It'd mess up your pretty face. But I just might do this..."

 

Harry blinked in surprise as suddenly, he found that Louis's strong, bronzed arms had locked themselves firmly around his waist and yanked him gently forward, crushing him against Louis's chest. He got a brief glimpse of a smiling Louis, his face full of fluttery eyelashes and giddy glances, before he closed his eyes and their lips descended upon one another's. Harry's heart immediately leaped into his throat, thrumming wildly and sending fluttering, whooshing sensations swooping throughout his limbs, swarming around his head, and a strange sort of electric warmth seemed to be buzzing from his lips; from the place where his skin touched Louis's.

 

God, he would never get used to that feeling-the feeling of warmth slowly spreading throughout his body, igniting sparks in his head as his heart beat quickly in his chest. He would never get used to the magical feeling of Louis's lips molding flawlessly, wonderfully around his, always tasting like honey and like...well, like Louis. There was no other way to describe it but Louis, and that was all Harry would ever need. Louis.

 

He felt Louis smile against his lips, the vibrations of unheard chuckles sending energy humming through either lad's lips, and Harry giggled at the ticklish sensation. His heart was melting with ecstasy and adoration as he let himself go limp in Louis's grasp, his back resting against Louis's strong forearm and his knees buckling slightly.

 

Something about the Doncaster boy unhinged him, opened him up and dazzled him in a way no one ever had or would. Louis was just special. He was unique, and he was most definitely the only one for Harry, because no one-no one-would ever make him feel the way Louis made him feel. When he was with Louis, he felt ridiculously like a teenage girl; giddy and fluttery, always excited and always lovestruck beyond belief. Maybe he'd feel vulnerable and ashamed with the way this made him feel, but in all honesty, Harry would never, in a million years, ever have it any other way.

 

Just him and Louis.

 

"Well, that certainly shut me up," he breathed against Louis's jaw as their lips gently detached, and Louis chuckled, pressing a playful kiss to Harry's cheek.

 

"Glad to see I have that effect on someone," Louis giggled smugly, his breath warming Harry's flushed skin, and Harry rolled his eyes.

 

"Whatever, you doof, I can feel your heart beating." And it was quite true; their quickly-thrumming hearts were drumming steadily against one another's as their chests pressed together, comfortable, energized warmth glowing from the contact.

 

"Fine, you caught me," Louis sighed, pretending to feel downcast, although in reality his veins were soaring with happiness, as they always did when he was in the arms of the curly-haired boy. Harry only giggled, sounding ridulously like a teenage girl as he craned his neck and molded his mouth to Louis's once more, smiling into his skin.

 

"I still can't quite believe I'm kissing you," Louis admitted shyly, voice quiet and breathless as warmth skimmed over Harry's cheek, and Harry's veins positively soared with elation, because really, he couldn't believe it either. At all.

 

"Me neither," he replied lowly, bouncing giddily on his toes because Jesus, how had his life suddenly become so perfect? How had he won over this damned angel of a boy? How had he earned the affection of Louis Tomlinson?

 

Louis bit his lip, smiling, and reluctantly, he let his arms fall from around Harry's waist. Still feeling rather rubbery in the knees, he dragged himself back to the porch and scooped up his bottle once more. Harry whined chilidhsly as Louis took a hearty swig, smacking his lips appreciatively.

 

"Gimme one," he pleaded, scurrying to Louis's side. Louis's eyebrows arched across shis forehead in surprise, and he glanced skeptically towards Harry.

 

"Good one, Hazza," he rolled his eyes, and Harry pursed his lips in disapproval.

 

"C'mon, Lou, just one drink. Nothing's gonna happen."

 

"No way, no how! I'm not letting an underaged lad get trashed in my backyard."

 

"How come?" Harry pouted. "You've told me a hundred times about how you and Stan would get pissed every summer. Why should he get to drink underage?"

 

Louis chuckled, eyes dancing as he noticed just how childish Harry seemed in that moment-It was absolutely adorable. He tutted, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and winding his free arm around Harry's waist, tugging him onto his lap and pressing a beer-scented kiss to his nose.

 

"Because," he began to explain. "Stan is not my boyfriend, and if he blacked out, I would not suffer an acute panic attack." At this, Harry blushed, realizing that Louis's refusal to let him drink was due to concern for Harry. Louis smiled gently, ruffling Harry's hair and resting his forehead against his temple.

 

"Don't worry," he murmured quietly in his ear, his breath warming the lad's face. "The second you turn eighteen, it'll be you and me, and I'll buy you all the alcohol you want." Harry smiled, his lips pursing and working furiously to stifle the wide, delighted grin trying to sneak its way onto his face, and Louis bit his lip, chuffed that he was causing Harry to blush so furiously.

 

"No you won't," Harry murmured, smiling as his fingers crawled towards Louis's sides and began fumbling with the soft fabric of his tee shirt, his fingertips brushing the skin of Louis's waist. Louis glanced down into his lap, eyelashes fluttering bashfully. "You'll buy me as much as I can hold, and even then you'll make sure I don't drink enough to get pissed."

 

"I know," Louis admitted sheepishly, and Harry chuckled. "No, nothing's happening to you. Not while I'm here, anyways."

 

"Always, then?" Harry asked in small voice, half-teasing and half-hopeful.

 

"Definitely," Louis murmured, his nose brushing Harry's for a brief second before he angled his face and pressed a soft, warm peck to his lips.

 

"Teasing, are we?" Harry breathed, eyebrows rising, and Louis giggled, wriggling slightly with giddiness. God, the way Harry made him feel...

 

"Maybe. Maybe not."

 

"I think that's a maybe," Harry grinned, his fingers moving from Louis's side to poke playfully at his middle, and immediately, Louis lurched forward in surprise.

 

"N-no!" he gasped as Harry began to prod his waist, tipping him backwards onto the porch. "Harry, no tickling-no..." Louis was lost for words as his breath caught in his throat and he shook with laughter, eyes watering and cheeks aching with the size of his grin.

 

 

 

❡❡❡

 

 

 

"Right foot blue."

 

"Eh...Can't...Reach..."

 

"You gotta make it! C'mon, you can do it!"

 

"Oh my God...Muscles...Stretching....Dangerous...."

 

"Go! Go! Go! Reach!"

 

"I can't...Too far...."

 

"Go, Harry, go! You can't lose!"

 

"Almost there....Fuck! Oh, shit..."

 

An round of tiny, feminine gasps filled the air as three dainty hands flew to three pairs of strawberry lips.

 

"Harry, you said a naughty word!" Phoebe said breathlessly, her eyes wider than dinner plates.

 

"He said two!" Fizz added smugly, looking expectantly up at Louis, who was chuckling with mingled amusement and annoyance.

 

"You have to put two pounds in the swear jar," Daisy said shyly, her wide blue eyes gazing down at the wincing Harry, full of accusation.

 

"Oh, God....My shoulder...." Harry moaned, hissing painedly through his teeth and rolling pathetically across the Twister mat. "Why are we even playing this stupid game anyway?"

 

At this, Louis gasped in sheer, utter horror, flinging himself to the floor to kneel beside Harry, his mouth gaping with fear.

 

"Harry," he breathed tentatively, his voice shaking. "Harry, please tell me I imagined those awful, awful words...."

 

"What?" Harry asked breathlessly, his face still crumpled with pain as he rubbed his pulled shoulder. "I just don't like to play Twister-" Before he could continue, Louis screeched with indignation, clamping his palm hurriedly over Harry's mouth and wincing horribly.

 

"Don't you ever say those words, Harry, you understand? Never!"

 

"Wha..." Harry mumbled, confusion joining the pain on his face as he gazed around at the three girls, completely bewildered. The twins giggled, looking towards each other before Fizzy plopped to the floor beside Lou.

 

"He worships this game like a God," Fizzy explained through a mouthful of giggles, and Harry rolled his eyes, smilings lightly despite the discomfort in his shoulder.

 

"Those words, those words..." Louis was muttering to himself, hands pressed tightly over his ears. "Can't get them out of my head..."

 

"I'm sorry, Boo," Harry chuckled, carefully pushing himself off of the crumpled mat and into a sitting position. "I take it back; Twister is the most wonderful game to ever exist."

 

"Harry!" Louis gasped, his stare flying quickly to Harry's face as he gazed hopefully into those green orbs. "Harry, do you really mean that?"

 

"No," Harry smirked. "But I'll say it anyway, if it makes you happy."

 

"Awh!" A chorus of three, small voices resounded through the room as Fizz, Daisy, and Phoebe clapped hands to their mouths, smiling.

 

"Shut it, you three," Louis rolled his eyes, blushing slightly as he shared a brief, shy smile with Harry. "Should't you be in bed? It's getting late."

 

As if on queue, a moment later, Jay's voice sounded from the kitchen, calling, "Girls, bedtime! Daisy and Pheebs, I want you in your pyjamas in five minutes!"

 

"Do we get a story?" Phoebe hollered back with surprising volume. With Jay's confirmation, the twins grinned to one another and began dashing towards the staircase. Sighing, Fizz reluctantly trailed behind, shooting Harry and Louis a knowing smile over her shoulder.

 

"Don't stay up long, lads," Jay said tiredly as she passed through the common room, blowing kisses in each boy's direction, and Harry nodded obediently while Louis rolled his eyes, calling "Night, mum!"

 

"What now? You want to watch a movie or summat?" Harry asked, glancing towards the television set.

 

"Nah, you heard her. We should get to sleep," Louis said, and as he casually laced his fingers through Harry's, the younger lad felt his cheeks warm. Biting back the smile playing at his lips, he allowed Louis to tug him towards the staircase and towards Lou's room.

 

"Harry?" a small voice stopped him in his tracks, and he looked down to see a tiny twin tugging at his fingers. "Harry, will you read us our story?"

 

She looked so small and innocent as she trod on his foot, blue eyes wide and pleading, and Harry was finding it very difficult to say No. He blinked, turning to glance at Louis, who only smiled with a shrug.

 

"What's ten more minutes? C'mon, little bug, we'll both read to you." Louis stooped to scoop the girl up onto his hip, his free hand never leaving Harry's, and they started for the twins' bedroom. Harry stepped inside, eyes curious; he'd never seen anyone's room but Lou's.

 

Daisy and Phoebe's bedroom was small, but lovely. The walls were painted soft shades of pink and pale green, and a set of white bunkbeds split the room in half. The carpet was faded and worn, but it was still soft, and it was littered with small white socks, half-dressed Barbie dolls, and torn school art projects. It wasn't quite as messy as Louis's (then again, no one's room was as messy as Louis's), but it was untidy and worn in a way that was almost endearing. Harry bit his lip, watching his step as he trod across the carpet and toward the white bunk bed, where a collection of faded stuffed animals and printed blankets lay in wait.

 

"No, Harry, come up here!' another voice whined, and Harry glanced up to see Daisy hanging grumpily over the side of the top bunk.

 

"No, stupid, how is he suppose to read the book from up there?" Phoebe pouted, glaring towards her twin, and Harry chuckled while Louis scolded Phoebe for using the S-word. He stood to offer his hand politely to the pouting Daisy, who huffed before letting him help her down, and the four of them curled upon Phoebe's mattress. Phoebe immediately scrambled into Harry's lap, and Daisy dove for Louis, resting her cheek against his shoulder as he tugged a book from the shelf beside the bunkbed.

 

"How about a Phoebe story tonight, eh, loves?" Louis asked, casting a thoughtful glance towards the book in his hand. Each story night, they alternated between what the family called "Phoebe stories"-which usually were a bit more adventurous and action-filled-and "Daisy stories"-which tended to involve princesses and dresses and happily-ever-after's.

 

"But we had a Phoebe story last time!" Daisy whined, agitated as she pouted, and Daisy gasped, frowning.

 

"Did not!" she replied. "You're lying. Lou, last time we had a Daisy story; you can even ask mum! Mumma-" she began to holler, but Louis laughed, clapping his hand gently over her mouth.

 

"It's okay, love, I believe you. Daisy, what did we say about lying?" he asked sternly, and Daisy scowled, wriggling out of Louis's lap to sulk among the blankets. Phoebe grinned triumphantly.

 

"The Steadfast Tin Soldier," Harry read the title as Louis slid the book into his hand, and he pursed his lips considerately. He hadn't heart of the story, but the author-Hans Christen Andersen-had written a lot of his favourite fairy tales as a kid, some of them being humiliatingly girly, like The Rose Elf and The Ugly Duckling.

 

"This doesn't look like an original Hans Christen Andersen," he added, frowning as he turned to Louis and gestured towards the lively animations and the simple wording.

 

"Well, you can't expect them to understand the original. It's a bit of a simplified version, you know, for kids," Louis replied, shrugging and making sure the twins hadn't heard him.

 

"Hurry up," Phoebe urged Harry, little fists flipping the book open, and Harry chuckled, eyebrows raised, while Louis grimaced from beside him.

 

"Calm down, I'm hurrying!" he laughed, and Louis wriggled towards him, shoulders nudging, so as to see the pages better.

 

"Once upon a time," Phoebe prompted him impatiently, and Louis rolled his eyes.

 

"Once upon a time," Harry repeated, grinning as he began to read the book. "There were twenty-five tin soldiers, and each of them belonged to a little boy. The little boy loved them dearly, and he was very proud of his soldiers. But one of the soldiers was different."

 

"How?" Daisy asked reluctantly, still sulking slightly as she peered towards Harry from the corner of the bunk, and Louis smirked, tugging her back into his lap so she could see the pictures.

 

"Well, let's keep reading and find out, shall we?" Harry smiled, and Phoebe poked him insistently. Harry sighed and continued to read.

 

"But one of the soldiers was different," he repeated, eyesbrows furrowed with concentration as he scanned the page. "When he had been made, the tin had run out, and he only had one leg. His one leg was very strong, though, and many of the other toys admired him and thought he was the greatest soldier to ever be. But the one-legged tin soldier admired someone else. One day, he caught sight of another doll. This doll was a very beautiful paper ballerina with a soft pink skirt, and she wore a big paper rose made of gold."

 

"Of gold?" Daisy demanded eagerly, forgetting all pride as she wormed forward to peer towards the book, admiring the pink ribbons and the big rose of the doll.

 

"Keep going," Phoebe whined, and Harry exchanged an amused glance with Louis before continuing.

 

"The tin soldier thought she was very pretty, but what he noticed most was what lay beneath the doll's skirt. He was very surprised-the doll only had one leg! She was just like him." As the girls' eyes widened wondrously, Harry himself began to grow absorbed. A tin soldier with one leg was meeting someone just like him...How sweet... He shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself before continuing with the story.

 

"The moment he saw the doll and her single leg, he thought, 'Yes, she is the one for me!' and knew he would never settle for another. But, he thought, she was so beautiful and so grand. She lived in a tall toy castle and wore only the finest of skirts. Why would a doll so wonderful ever love a toy like him?" As Harry read, he felt Louis's eyes on him.

 

"In the night time, when the boy was fast asleep, all of the toys came out to play. The nutcrackers played leap-frog, the swans swam in the pond, and all of the other soldiers jumped and danced with their two legs. The only two toys that did not move were the one-legged tin soldier and the pretty doll. When midnight came, the clock struck and rang, and all of a sudden, a shadow appeared in the little boy's room, hidden behind the other toys. The tin soldier looked towards the shadow, but all he could see was a little black goblin, his eyes bright and his smile grim."

 

Daisy bit her lip, recoiling into Louis's arms slightly, and Louis smiled as he patted the top of her head gently.

 

"The black goblin looked to the one-legged soldier and said, 'Tin soldier, why do you want what you cannot have? You are only a soldier with one leg. You should not desire such a wonderful toy as she,' and he looked towards the pretty doll, poised on her only leg. The tin soldier shook his head, ignoring the goblin, because all he ever wanted was the pretty doll, and he would not listen to him. 'Very well,' the goblin said, his voice quiet and angry. 'But wait until tomorrow! You will regret longing for something you should not.'"

 

Harry, to his mighty embarrassment, was beginning to grow tense and breathless as he read the story, green eyes wide and fascinated as he turned the page with bated breath; for oh goodness, what would happen tomorrow? What would the goblin do? He turned red as Louis's affectionate chuckle reached his ears. What? It was a good story. He could be interested in a children's story, couldn't he?

 

"In the morning, the tin soldier sat in the open window, and something-perhaps the black goblin, or perhaps simply the wind-pushed him out and into the air! The little tin soldier fell a very long ways to the street waiting below, his painted face sad and frightened. When the little boy who owned the toys came outside to look for him, he wanted to call out; to say, 'Here I am! Come and find me!' But he was a brave little soldier, and brave little soldiers never asked for help."

 

As he turned the page, something warm touched his back, and for a moment he thought that Daisy had slung herself over his neck, but then he realised that Louis had scooched behind him, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder and peering towards the pages. Harry's cheeks turned the colour of strawberries when Louis's cheek nuzzled his neck, and he cleared his throat before continuing.

 

"It began to rain, and two strangers came down the street. When they drew closer, the tin soldier realised that they were two little boys, just like the owner of the toys. 'Look!' One of the boys cried. 'A fallen toy soldier! Let's send him on his way, the captain of his own ship.' And the other boy used an old newspaper to make a small paper boat. It reminded the soldier of the pretty doll, and he felt very sad. When the boys set him in the boat and pushed the boat down the stream, he only grew more sorrowful, because he was sailing further and further away from the ballerina. The stream was scary, and the rain caused the water to slosh back and forth, sending the boat tumbling. The soldier was scared, but he let no fear show in his face. He was a brave little soldier, and brave little soldiers showed no fear."

 

"Hurry," Phoebe mumbled anxiously when Harry's fumbling fingers failed to turn the page quickly enough, and Louis laughed, warm breath falling over the back of Harry's neck.

 

"When the paper boat passed through a tunnel, everything became black, and the tin soldier realised, 'Oh! This must be the doing of the black goblin.'"

 

Harry grinned as the two girls gasped, and Louis smiled, chin bobbing against Harry's shoulder.

 

"The darkness grew darker and darker, and the soldier thought, 'Oh, if only the pretty paper doll was with me. It could be twice as dark, for all I care!' All he wanted was to see the paper doll once more. Suddenly, out of the darkness, a gleam of light appeared, and the soldier knew he must be nearing the end of the tunnel. He was stopped by a big, black water rat."

 

Harry paused as Daisy muttered, "Gross," and Louis cringed.

 

"'Stop!' the rat said. 'Where is your money? You have to give me what I need before you pass.' But the tin soldier didn't have any coins, and as the water grew stronger and stronger, the boat sailed right past the rat, and the water began to fill the paper. 'Oh, no!' the soldier thought as the boat filled and began to sink. 'I'll never see the face of the pretty paper doll again.' Before he knew it, he and the crumbling boat were being swallowed by a fish!"

 

"By a fish?" Daisy asked, wrinkling her nose.

 

"That's what it says here," Harry smiled, and Phoebe nudged him, whining for him to keep going. Harry chuckled and continued.

 

"It was very dark in the fish, but the tin soldier did not falter, because he was a brave little soldier, and brave little soldiers never faltered. The fish was caught and taken to a butcher's, when a chef cut the fish open. 'Why, look!' the chef exclaimed. 'It's the one-legged tin soldier!' And she scooped him up into her hand and carried her back to the little boy's room. The soldier was so surprised to see the familiar toys and the familiar doll house, and then-oh, then-he saw the pretty paper dancer, and she too was little and brave alone on her one leg. The soldier was so touched, he wanted to cry, but he was a brave little soldier, and brave little soldiers did not cry."

 

"Everyone cries, though," Daisy whispered. "Even Louis, sometimes."

 

"Daisy," Louis muttered, head nudging Harry's. "I do not."

 

"Guys, be quiet! Harry's reading!" Phoebe hollered, and Harry rolled his eyes as Jay's distant call of disapproval drifted through the open door. He looked back down to the book and continued, this time, with Louis's arm wrapped around his waist and resting aainst his stomach.

 

"Suddenly, the tin soldier was being carried again, and before he knew it, he was being thrown into a room that was very hot and very bright. 'A stove!' he thought horridly, and he was very afraid and he was hurting, because the coals were beginning to melt his only leg and the paint coating his body. He had not seen the hand that had delivered him to his death, but he knew, somehow, that the black goblin was behind this as well."

 

Harry's heart was in his throat and his eyes were wide as he gaped at the page. He really hadn't seen that coming. Would the soldier be all right? What about the paper doll? When he caught Louis's eyes on his face, a small smile on his lips, he blushed and turned back to the book.

 

"But then, the stove door opened, and suddenly, the pretty paper doll was blowing through the air and towards him. He was torn; he wanted so badly to be with her, but what if the coals burned her? What was he to do? But then, the doll was landing beside him, and tin touched paper for an infinite moment before the paper burst into flames."

 

"Oh, no!" Daisy whimpered, blue eyes round and glazed as she gazed towards the illustration of the hot stove, and Harry's own breaths were falling rather quickly. How could Hans have killed off the main character? Anxious, he quickly turned the page, waiting for the happily ever after.

 

"All that was left of the paper doll was the big, golden rose. The En-" Harry finished, dumbstruck as he realised that that was the end of the book. What? Where was the happy ending? Where was the endless love affair, the beautiful romance? How could his favourite fairy tale author have let him down?

 

"Is...is that it? That's the end?" Phoebe demanded, increduclous as she gaped at the book, looking just as appalled as Harry did.

 

"Course not," Louis murmured, his fingers tightening over Harry's hips as he stroked blonde locks from Phoebe's forehead with the other hand. "Of course that's not the end, bugs. What did I tell you about happy endings?"

 

"Then what happens?" Daisy asked, face wrought with anxiety as she gazed towards the fiery picture in the book. Louis paused, considering, before he finally replied.

 

"Uh... The...The tin soldier's single leg was so strong because it was made of gold," he began, improvising as he spoke. "So the tin soldier was invincible-the fire couldn't burn him. And...When at last, the fire had gone out, he looked to the burn gold rose of the paper doll and cried, because he thought she was lost forever. He thought he would never see her again. But then, his single gold leg touched the burnt gold rose, and something miraculous happened."

 

"Something magical?" Phoebe asked with baited breath, and Louis nodded, smiling.

 

"Something magical, yes. The tin-soldier's magical golden leg was full of his love for the doll, and when the leg touched the rose, the rose felt all of his love and all of his magic. Because his love for the doll was so much more powerful than any sin of the black goblin, his love and magic began to grow from the golden rose, and it grew and grew and grew. When the sad tin soldier looked up, he realised that the paper doll had reappeared. He had brought her back to life."

 

"He saved her?" Daisy asked, eyes wide.

 

"Yes," Louis nodded. "He saved her with his love, but the important thing to remember," he emphasized a bit too dramatically, "is that more than anything, the doll saved him."

 

The room fell silent for a long moment, Harry's face soft and wide and the twins' brows scrunched with confusion.

 

"Yeah. Think on that for awhile," Louis smiled satisfiedly, looking quite pleased with himself for his brief moment of philosophy, and he kissed each girl on the head before tightening his arm around Harry's waist and tugging him to his feet. "Goodnight, lovelies," he said, helping Daisy into her bunk while Harry patted Phoebe's blankets around her little shoulders.

 

"Goodnight, Harry and Lou," they called sleepily, still looking riddled with drowsy confusion after Louis's explanation, and Louis smiled as he turned the light off and began to guide Harry down the hallway.

 

"That was sweet, Boo," Harry said quietly, as not to wake any of the other girls. "Where did you come up with that?"

 

"I dunno," Louis shrugged with a grin. "I've been to quite a lot of improv camps in my days, mind you. Besides," he said with a grin, cheekiness coating every word. "You were my inspiration."

 

"Oh, don't do that, it's too cheesy," Harry groaned, but he didn't think his cheeks had ever been so hot, or his dimples so prominent. Louis only smirked, eyebrows waggling immaturely as he tugged Harry into his bedroom.

 

By now, Harry had gotten quite used to the indescribable mess of the area, and he barely flinched as he dove over the waist-high pile of socks and stepped around the heap of cereal boxes.

 

"Lou, you mind telling me what I'm laying on?" he asked apprehensively, freezing as he collapsed onto Louis's bed and felt something sharp beneath his back.

 

"Uh-oh...Hang on, don't move an inch," Louis commanded, his face full of alarm as he began carefully groping the blankets.

 

"Why?" Harry grumbled, his muscles freezing.

 

"I'm sorry, Harold, do you want a tetanus shot?" Louis challeneged, and Harry shook his head, eyes widening. "Here we are," Louis said proudly, tugging what looked like a fork from the depths of the mattress and tossing it aside. "Remember to mind your step, won't you?" he added, glancing nervously over his shoulder towards the area in which the fork had landed. Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes slightly.

 

"Of course," he said, "If I haven't mutated by then."

 

"Shut it, you," Louis grinned. "There's nothing to worry about; Mum just washed these sheets."

 

"If you're sure..." Harry teased slowly, and was rewarded by a thump to the side of the head.

 

"One more word and you'll be snuggling the carpet tonight," Louis snapped, his eyebrows shooting across his forehead as he pursed his lips, bubbling with attitude. Harry laughed, eyes shining with adoration.

 

"As long as I'd have you down there with me," he shrugged, smiling, and Louis's cheeks flushed with heat, his own lips struggling to force back a delighted giggle. Harry smirked smugly.

 

"Well, however fantastic that idea sounds, why don't we just stay up here where the air is clean and safe?" Louis asked with a small simper, and Harry nodded, chuckling.

 

"Shall we get some sleep, then? Fizz will have us up bright and early in the morning." Harry noted, yawning silently as he wriggled beneath the duvet and curled onto the pillow. Tucking himself into a fetal position, he allowed his eyes to flutter shut, his lashes brushing his cheekbones.

 

When a vague silence fell over the room and he began to feel a strong gaze fixated onto his face, he opened his eyes, blinking slowly, and glanced up to see Louis's blue orbs fastened to the small, curled figure of the boy. Harry frowned slightly, for their was a glint in Louis's gaze that he'd never seen before. Mingled adoration, disbleief, and sheer love filled each and every shard of his stare as he blinked thoughtfully down at the Cheshire boy.

 

Harry blushed furiously, his dimples deepening in his cheeks beneath Louis's wonderstruck glance, and as Lou realised that Harry had caught him in the act, his own face burned with embarrassment. Harry smiled gently, still exceedingly flattered, and silently extended his hand. Biting his lip, Louis stifled a small, bashful giggle and allowed the tips of his fingers to tickle Harry's warm palm.

 

"By God, we're idiots," Louis muttered under his breath, the smile still on his lips.

 

"Mm? Why's that?" Harry asked curiously as Lou lowered himself to curl upon the pillows beside Harry.

 

"Because I'm about to kiss you senseless, and my little sisters are probably sitting outside my door as we speak, listening to our every move." Louis snickered, his cheeks glowing in the darkness of the bedroom.

 

"Are they now?" Harry whispered, his voice lowering as Louis fingers curled around his. "Well, that's unfortunate, because I'm hoping that you're not about to change your mind."

 

"Congratulations," Louis breathed, craning his neck to bring his flawless, angled face inches from Harry's. "You get your wish, then."

 

"Lucky me," Harry grinned cheekily before his lips met Lou's.

 

How strange it seemed...With each touch, each murmur, each kiss, Harry thought that eventually, he'd grow more and more used to the electricity coursing through his veins and the effect that Louis had on him. Yet, to his mingled delight and frustration, he only seemed to beocme more and more flustered and wonderstruck with every movement. Each brush of Lou's fingertips had his heart racing and his skin burning. Each glance in his direction had his cheeks flushing and his dimples deepening. Each hug had his mind melting unendelessly and his eyes heavy with srenity. Each kiss... Well, Harry doubted there were any words to describe exactly how Lou's kisses impacted him.

 

Magical, perhaps, was the word to describe how he felt; or maybe extraordinary? It didn't matter; whichever words and letters jumbled together, they would never be able to do his emotions justice. The feeling of Louis's warm, soft, perfect lips shaping flawlessly around his was simply...indescribable.

 

His heart leaped into his throat, skittering lightly yet at the speed of light. Louis's gentle, soft hands, so much smaller than his own, carefully cupped Harry's neck and shoulders, winding the downy curls above Harry's ear round his fingers, and in one swift motion, he had lifted one foot and tigged himself off of the mattress to loom over Harry. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving urgently and yet so, so sensually slowly, and their legs became a tangled swathe beneath the blankets. Harry's hands snaked quielty to Louis's sides, his palms shaping round his slim waist. The younger lad's fingers curled through the sheer fabric of Louis's shirt, tugging the material slightly from his hips and exposing the bronzed, smooth skin of his middle.

 

He was so, so beautiful...

 

This, Harry thought as Louis's thumb traced gentle circles across Harry's temple and his lips continued to etch patterns of love into those of the younger boy.

 

This is real.

 

 

 

❡❡❡

 

 

 

"Have you ever been in love?" Harry asked in a hushed whisper many hours later, his gaze bleary and thoughtful as he stared unfocusedly up at the shadowed ceiling of Louis's bedroom, the fingers of his right hand tangled with Louis's, their shoulders pressing tightly together.

 

Louis was silent for a long moment, and Harry thought desolately that, perhaps he was asleep, but finally, Louis's clear, smooth voice, unhindered by sleep or lust, broke the silence.

 

"Define love." He whispered cheekily. Harry smirked quietly, laughing slightly through his nose, and turned his gaze to glance at the smiling lips of the Doncaster lad.

 

"Prat," he chuckled under his breath before turning his head to stare back up at the celing, green eyes misty with thought.

 

"Love...It's....Well," Harry began, his voice a hushed, dreamy whisper as he spoke. "When you love someone, you'd do anything for that person, regardless of whether you would be hurt or not. You'd say anything, be anything, as long as that was what made them happy. Hell, you'd throw yourself off a bridge, if that was what they wanted."

 

Louis's breath seemed to have stopped in his chest as he lay in silence, listening closely to Harry's voice, filled with absolute adoration and warmth.

 

"Love is when you want to spend every waking moment with that person, and every second that you're together feels like a segment of paradise. It feels like you've got the world in the palm of your hand; like you can do anything, because that's how amazing you feel when you're with them."

 

He fell quiet for a long moment, pondering his own words, until Louis, voice cracking, whispered, "And?"

 

"And," Harry continued, inhaling and ehaling deeply as he closed his eyes. "And you crave every touch, every glance, every moment of attention. Your world revolves around them, and you want more than anything for their world to, in turn, revolve around you. You absolutely adore every single thing about that person; every single detail. You love their perfections, but more than anything, you love their flaws..." He turned his head slightly to gaze desperately, lovingly into Louis's blue eyes, round and swimming with moisture. "Because that's what makes them so amazing in the first place." He finished quietly, his own voice racking with emotion.

 

As Louis's warm, soft fingers twitched slightly in his, Harry realised that he'd been subconsciously caressing the back of his hand with his thumb. The two of them lay in a long, peaceful silence for an unbelievably long, beautiful moment together, full of nothing but the gentle whirs of breath coming from each nose and the soft smattering of butterflies that burst to life in each boy's stomach as their fingers twined and brushed against one another.

 

"So," Harry breathed finally, breaking the silence. "Have you ever been in love, Louis?" A second long, unending moment of nothingness passed, before Louis finally opened his lips and began to speak.

 

"Yes," he whispered, heart thudding against his chest. Harry bit his lip, holding his breath as Louis spoke. "With a boy I met...last year."

 

Harry's heart, which had been beating so lightly and quickly in his chest, seemed to sink like a rock into his stomach. Oh. Of course Louis had loved someone other than him. Of course he had. He shouldn't have expected him to ever love a person like Harry; not like Harry loved him...

 

"R-really?" Harry asked desolately, struggling to force back the heart-broken tears pressing hotly at his eyes. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have ever thought a person as incredible as Louis would ever return his feelings? He suddenly felt so very small, so very humiliated...

 

"Mm," Louis murmured serenely, closing his eyes and smiling at the memory of the boy. "He was...Magical. He was beautiful, he was talented, he was funny, he was...God, he was so damned imperfect, and yet, he was absolutely everything." He sighed longingly, and Harry swallowed tightly around the painful lump that had lodged itself in his throat. His face crumpled as he realised that he could not suppress the tears any longer. As Louis spoke about this perfect, faceless boy that had stolen his heart long before Harry ever had, his heart was slowly shattering in his chest. "With every glance, he had my cheeks turning red. With every touch, my stomach would jump with butterflies. He could light up an entire city with one of his beautiful smiles," Louis said, his own gorgeous smile dawning softly on his pink lips as he lost himself fin reminiscence.

 

"He's so beautiful. He's so quirky, he's so wonderfully flawed. He's just...Just everything." Louis breathed, little by little causing harry's heart to break only further.

 

Stop, Harry wanted to beg him, tears trickling down the sides of his face as his jaw locked. Just stop hurting me, Louis, please...

 

"He's beautiful," Louis repeated once more, his voice dripping with love an adoration. "He's got these adorable brown curls that bounce with every step. His eyes are the most beautiful shade of green, and whenever he laughs, dimples dent his peachy cheeks, and God, it's just the most wonderful thing...."

 

Wait a minute... Harry thought, his glazed eyes widening slightly. Could...Could Louis...Could he be...?

 

"He's my everything," Louis whispered, his own voice beginning to rock with tears as he spoke chokedly, biting his lip to suppress the emotion straining at his mouth, and he turned his head slightly atop the sheets to gaze into Harry's desperate face, those ocean-blue orbs gleaming with every movement of his glance. "You're my everything." He whispered, his voice racking with emotion, and a shaky, minisucle smile curled his beautiful, pink lips as Harry's own lips parted in mingled awe and disbelief, his face full of adoration.

 

"Yes, Harry, I've been in love," Louis conitued. "I fell in love the day I met you, and I don't think I'll ever find my way out again."

 

Harry's heart was thudding impossibly heavily in his chest, and he assumed that it was only a matter of time before it crashed right through his ribcage. His face was warm, his eyes still glazed with moisture. He couldn't believe it. Louis was finally telling him what he'd been positively dying to hear for five months. The fact that this beautiful, angelic, perfect boy was giving his heart to him, Harry, the pathetic, depressed boy from Holmes Chapel. It was nothing short of a miracle; it was unbelievable, but Harry wasn't going to dare questioning it.

 

"YYou meant m-me?" he stuttered, his voice bubbling from his throat tearfully, and Louis smiled that beautiful smile, the corenrs of his lips turning up and his blue eyes crinkling wonderfully. God, he was so stunning... So flawless...

 

"No, sweetheart, I meant the janitor of the Wembley Arena. We bumped into each other after I met you." Harry blinked in astonishment for a long, horrible moment before Louis's face lit with amusement and he ducked his head, snuggling tightly into Harry's chest while snickering with delighted giggles. Harry sighed heavily in relief, his heart still stuttering roughly in his chest as he rolled his eyes and slid his arms protectively around Louis's huddled form, nuzzling his face into the soft, feathery mop of his caramel-coloured hair.

 

"You're an absolute twat, you are," he growled furiously, although he could not, for the life of him, keep the giddy, bashful smile off of his lips. "You had me so fucking scared for a second there..."

 

"Aw, you know you love me," Louis cooed playfully, grinning as he nestled his face more tightly into Harry's chest and nipped playfully at his neck, giving him one of his classic lovebites. Harry giggled, wriggling slightly beneath the ticklish sensation.

 

"I do," he said softly, resting his chin on the crown of Louis's head and closing his eyes against the dark, still shadows of his room, allowing himself to be completely and totally enveloped by nothing but the boy in his arms.

 

"Me too." Louis whispered, and another moment of silence followed before he burst into immature giggles once more, chukling heartily and causing vibrations to rock Harry's chest.

 

"Full of yourself much?" Harry smirked, his low, husky voice reverberating quietly around the small room.

 

"Shut it, you," Louis giggled. "You know what I meant."

 

"Well, why don't you tell me, then?" Harry asked quietly, desperate to hear the words that meant so much to him.

 

"C'mere." Louis murmured, untucking his head from its place on Harry's chest to face him, their noses inches apart as he clasped Harry's hands in his, his blue eyes gazing intently into those green orbs. "Harry," Louis whispered, his fingers tightening as his thumb traced a gentle pattern over Harry's knuckle. "You're my Hazza. You mean more to me than...well, than anything. ...Except scarves-kidding!" Louis shrieked as Harry, grinning, kicked him playfully in the shin, and Louis snickered, obviously very pleased with himself. "Kidding, I'm kidding," he repeated, giggling as he smiled into Harry's face, his eyes twinkling while they crinkled brightly. "How could ever think I was serious about something like that?" Louis teased, quiet, giddy mumbles of laughter humming from his closed lips as he nuzzled his nose against Harry's like a kitten.

 

"I dunno," Harry sighed, still smiling. "I just...You're so amazing, Boobear. You're so damn perfect, in every way. Any person on this earth would be so, so lucky to have someone like you. The fact that you would chose...Would chose someone...Well, someone like me....I mean, I'm just Harry, Lou," he whispered, his voice drifting from its previously ecstatic tremor to an anxious, insecure, embarrassed tone. "I'm the awkward, immature, depressed kid from Holmes Chapel, the kid no one but washed-up, has-been pageant girls would want; the kid who's so helpless and dependent that he needs a fucking pill just to get himself through the day..." His voice cracked as he spoke, and he ducked his head, tears welling behind his eyelids, causing the green shards of his irises to morph into a breathtaking shade of cyan. "...A p-person like you wouldn't ever want someone l-like me," he stuttered, sniffling pathetically as he shyly dragged the back of his hand across his teary eyes.

 

"Listen to me," Louis finally whispered, his soft, throaty whisper of a voice shaking with determination as he untangled the fingers of one his hands from Harrys's and extended it to rest gently upon the younger boy's chek, cupping round his strong jaw. The tip of his forefinger began to trace light, adoring cirles across his peachy skin, and Harry repressed a shudder. "You listen to me very carefully, Haz," Louis whispered seriously once more, and harry's throat tightened beneath the muscles of his neck, his long eyelashes stroking Louis's knuckle as he blinked slowly.

 

"You," Louis continued softly, fiercely. "Are so beautiful. You are amazing. And you're, right, Hazza, you may not be perfect. You may snore, and mumble in your sleep, and toss and turn, and hog the blankets. You may speak so lowly that sometimes, I can barely understand you, and you may laugh at the most ridiculously stupid things, and you may walk through life grinning like a five year old. You may spend an eternity eating, because for some stupid reason, you feel the need to eat your apple with a knife and fork, and you may be impossible when it comes to putting your goddamned phone away, and you may not understand jokes the first time you hear them. You may be afraid to try new things, and you may be a total and absolute pain to sleep with because, somehow, you can't get some shut-eye unless your pillow is fluffed perfectly, and you may be a complete klutz and spill whatever you're drinking all over yourself. You may be afraid of ridiculous things like roller coasters and scary movies, and you may not be able to cross a flat and stable surface without somehow finding something to trip over. You may take an impossibly long time to tie your shoelaces, and you may get excited over the smallest, most idiotic of matters, and you may bother me about my organizational skills to the point where I want to tear my hair out of my head. But you know what? Those are all the things I love most about you, and I'll be damned if anyone ever changes that. You hear me?"

 

Harry couldn't bear to listen to another word. As Louis spoke, the hot, bubbling moisture welling behind his eyelids only strengthened and grew, and when Louis had finally declared to him how much adoration he held for the Cheshire boy, he realised why he was such a wreck.

 

"You'll always have flaws, Hazza," Louis continued gently, his voice nearly unbearably soft as he whispered. "But you'll always be my pretty paper doll."

 

This, Harry thought brokenly to himself as the tears began dribbling from his lashes and cascading across his cheeks, Is what it must feel like to be loved. Yes, it could be argued that he was loved by his mother and sister. It could be argued that he was loved affectionately by the other three lads, but this....This was very, very different. Each of them held a sympathetic, protective sort of emotional attachment towards Harry, a vague type of responsibility. They may love him, but no one would ever love him like this, because this was so, so much more different than anything Harry had ever experienced before....Perhaps more so than anyone had ever experienced before...

 

As the sight of the plump tears rolling slowly down his face, Louis's shadowed face creased with worry. Lips parting, he gently cupped his palms round Harry's jaw and cheeks, ccradling his face between his hands as his thumbs traced soothing circles across his skin.

 

"Hazza, what's wrong?" Louis asked anxiously in a hushed whisper, his hazel eyes flitting concernedly over Harry's broken face, slick with tears.

 

"I..." Harry began, and to his embarrassment, his voice had begun to shake horribly. "I-I....It's just...Oh, God, Louis. No one has ever loved me like this before. Everyone I know pities me, sympathizes me, knows I'll never accomplish anything because I'm the depressed, unstable lad doomed to Holmes Chapel and failure for the rest of his life. But you," Harry continued, his voice dropping to a cracked whisper as the building of sobs racked his throat. "You've always had so much...faith in me, I suppose. I have nothing to hide from you; you know every single thing about me, and yet, you're still here. You still believe in me. You still...You still..."

 

"Harry," Louis hushed him gently, leaning forward slightly to rest his forehead against that of the curly-haired lad's. Harry's breath caught in his throat as those blue orbs, shadowed in the dark and yet gleaming like the stars, lit upon his own green eyes. "Harry, I don't love you in spite of that. I love you because of it."

 

What? Harry's heart seemed to stutter and halt in his chest, and his pulse rocketed in his wrist and neck. His cheeks drained of colour and a strange, beautiful feeling nestled gently in his middle and draped itself over his shoulders, for that was the first time anyone apart from his family told him that they loved him.

 

Louis loved him.

 

Louis loved him.

 

Louis loved him, and in return, Harry had never loved anything so powerfully in his life.

 

"You...you love me, then?" he whispered, half ecstatic and half terrified, worried that something had gone wrong as usual; that he'd misheard Louis, or that Louis hadn't meant what he'd said. Yet...

 

"C'mere," Louis murmured, smiling gently as his palms shaped more deftly around Harry's slim cheekbones and jaw, and he began to angle his head slightly in his direction, his soft, caramel-coloured hair flopping lightly across the pillow. As Harry realised what was coming, his pulse began to escalate wildly through his veins, and he barely had time to allow his eyelids to flutter shut before he felt that familiar, warm, honey-scented breath fall from Louis's lips and across Harry's chin. His heart jumped spasmodically into his throat, and butterflies erupted into life in the pit of his stomach. That familiar, beautiful, hectic feeling was swirling about his chest once more... As he always did in these...Er, certain situations, he found himself sub-consciously leaning into Louis's touch, and with an enormous spark coursing throughout his entire body, those perfect, soft lips finally pressed themselves gently to his.

 

Would he ever get used to the feeling of their mouths molding together as if it were fate; to the feeling of Louis's lips caressing his, commuting love and adoration with every small movement? He didn't think so, and somehow, this didn't bother him in the slightest.

 

His hands moved from their curled position upon his chest to slide his left hand smoothly across Lou's waist, his palm cupping the dip of his hip; and his right hand slithered slowly to that soft, feathery head of hair, his fingers running fluidly through the silky strands.

 

Perhaps other pairs of lovers would need to resort to words and linguistic communication in order to convey to one another their unending love, but Harry and Louis? As so in seemingly every other instance, they were the one exception. Louis didn't need words, letters, or his voice in order to tell Harry just how much he meant to him, how much he loved him; and Harry didn't need his eyes or his ears to understand these things, these feelings that Louis was expressing to him.

 

He felt every emotion, every thought, every sensation with each movement of Louis's lips on his, each brush of his fingers, each flutter of his eyelashes against his cheek and nose. He felt his love in the creases of his supple mouth, in the warmth of his breath and tongue. He felt his adoration in the soft hum vibrating from his throat, the gentle sighs whispering from his nose, as relaxed and as euphoric as if he were resting in heaven.

 

In that moment, Harry was so incredibly aware of each touch, each movement, each motion, each shift. He felt each breath skim across his jaw and cheeks as if it were a gust of strong wind. He felt each degree of warmth against his body as if emanating from the boiling sun. he felt each burst of friction humming from the contact of fingertips on skin as if it were tires against pavement. He felt each crease, crevice, and misicule groove in Louis's beautiful lips as if they were deep, glowing fissures of the earth. He felt Louis's heart thrumming solidly, dully against his, keeping perfect time, as if it were the echoing, magnificent beat of a powerful drum.

 

In that single, unearthly moment, that moment coursing through his veins like heroin, that moment sending his body sparking with life and disbelief, each and every one of his senses seemed to have sharpened and heightened to a godlike stratum.

 

He felt absolutely, unbelievably, inconceivably amazing. He felt as though he could do anything, be anything, as long as this beautiful, perfect boy was here in his arms.

 

Louis Tomlinson loved him.

 

By some heavenly miracle, Louis loved him, Harry Styles, and in that space of time, Harry was only sure of one thing.

 

He loved Louis more than anything in the world.

 

He loved him more than anyone had every loved anything before, and he would love him more than anyone ever would.

 

Louis...

 

As Louis's soft, shining lips detached from his, Harry's eyes fluttered open, wide, hot, and glowing with elevated adrenaline, and, his skin still tingling with sparks and his stomach still bursting with that godforsaken smattering of butterflies, he sighed slightly through his mouth as Louis ducked his head, winding his arms tightly around Harry's waist, and nuzzled his face gently into the warm, wide hollow of Harry's neck. Those beautiful, supple lips pressed themselves lovingly against the pulse beating lightly and erratically beneath Harry's sharp jaw, and to his utter embarrassment, the younger lad found that emotional, overwhelming tears had begun to brew sinisterly behind his eyelids once more, dewing amongst his long, dark eyelashes. His heart felt as if it were growing straight out of his chest, as if it were about to burst through his ribcage with the powerful surge of tenderness surging through his body, more intensely and naturally than ever before.

 

"Harry," Louis breathed, his voice sending vibrations running through Harry's neck as he mumbled softly against his skin. "I love you."

 

At his words, Harry's heart lurched wildly and, if possibly, only seemed to increase in speed. The emerging tears bubbled over his lower eyelashes and ran across his nose and temples as he bit his lip and wrapped his arms around Louis's neck, pressing their beating hearts together and nuzzling his cheek into those soft locks.

 

"Oh, Louis," he whispered brokenly, a sob struggling to free itself from his throat. "God, Lou....I love you too."


	25. Homeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff fluff fluff.

❡❡❡

 

When Harry was four years old, he wanted a house.

He didn't want a toy house; not like the little ones that can fit in a microwave oven. He didn't want a playhouse that would sit dormant in his back garden for twenty-some years and fit the picture of some horror film once cobwebs and the shells of dead spiders littered the thing. He didn't want a little house in a colouring book that was all lines and hue and no depth.

No, Harry wanted a _house_.  He wanted a house that was bigger than a radiating cooking machine; he wanted a house that had a warm fireplace and a tin-pot shoe rack and a three-quarter bathroom with his very own duckie towel on his very own hook; he wanted more than to fill in the lines and to paint a picture of what he wanted. He wanted a bloody _house._

He would nick his father's hardware catalogues and scan the pages upon pages of houses airbrushed onto the paper. He would stick his head out of the car window and gape at the homes up and down the street until his mother told him to _"Knock that off, Harold, dang it!"_ He would sit down with his sister's sketchpad and a dozen or so dried-up Crayola markers and scribble a rather horrid rectangle, and then he'd scribble a couple more rectangles on top of the first rectangle, and then one more, and he'd think, _That's what my house will look like_ , before skipping off an forgetting to put the caps back on the markers.

In any case, Harry _really_ wanted a damn house. And he would not shut up about it either.

 _"Harry,"_ his parents would ask, smiling as they slid a fresh piece of stationery under his sticky fingers and set a pen in his palm. _"What are you going to ask for from Father Christmas this year?"_ Harry would open his mouth, and his father would predict the answer, and hurry to interrupt him.

 _"How about a nice train set? I know you liked that set we saw at the shopping centre, didn't you? What do you think?_ " He'd say, half hopeful and half worried.

 _"Or a Power-Ranger?"_ His mother would ask. _"Your old one's getting a bit beat, isn't it? Why don't you ask Father Christmas for the new red Power-Ranger, Harry?"_

 _"Nope,"_ Harry would say before they could dare to cross their fingers. _"I'm going to ask him for a hou-"_

 _"Damn it, why does he want his own house so badly?"_ His father would mutter to his mother, shaking his head in bewilderment while Gemma whizzed behind him, hollering, _"One pound in the swear jar!"_

No one- not even Harry - was quite sure why he wanted a house- a house, of all bloody things- so badly. Yes, it was natural for a child to want to experience a free, independent lifestyle and to play "family" with one another in little toy kitchens, but this was no _Little Tikes_ kitchen set he wanted. This was a house; and preferably one with "a bajillion swimming pools and slides and race tracks and movie theatres and stuff," according to Harry. Now, most kids would have their brief fantasy, understand that they weren't about to attain a mansion anytime soon, and move on to a Lego castle or a tricycle. But _not Harry._

At one point, after Harry had asked his parents for a house for the third year running, Anne grew frustrated and finally attempted to figure out why the hell he wanted his own house so badly.

 _"I don't understand, hun,"_ she would beg, nearly crying with exasperation as four year old little Harry crossed his arms and pushed his lip forward in an awful pout, eyebrows scrunching. _"You could have a trampoline, or a bike, or even a kiddie pool. Why do you want your own house?"_

 _"_ _Because,"_ Harry eventually sighed, rolling his eyes as if no one knew just how hard it was to be him, _"It would all be mine! I would get my own bed time and bath time, and I wouldn't have to share a room with Gemma."_ Anne opened her mouth to reply, but before she knew it, Harry was rambling again. _"Besides,"_ he continued stubbornly, _"Families come in houses. I want to swim and watch movies and make ice cream and take care of a family."_

Anne had never realised until then just how mature and nurturing her son would be. Frustration mingled with pride, and she struggled with herself for a long moment before she stood up and stomped away to make him some damn ice cream.

Needless to say, Harry didn't get his house that Christmas. Nor the Christmas after, or the Christmas after, or the- Well. It shall be simply put that, on his seventh Christmas (which, by the way, happened to be the Christmas in which he sent Father Christmas no less than eight letters asking for his house) when he woke up to find no house key waiting for him in his stocking, he wasn't happy.

Sure, he did no more than pout furiously and quietly as he opened his presents, muttering sulky thank you's and half-hearted shouts of delight, but may it be noted once again- he _wasn't_ happy. He wanted that damned house. On the morning of the twenty-fifth, when he'd thrown away the last bit of wrapping paper, he looked out the window and very solidly decided that he was going to get it.

His parents didn't notice as he crawled into his red rubber galoshes and stood on his tip-toes to open the big front door of their Eastbourne home, and they didn't hear the click of the door as he shut it quietly and started down the street.

The Styles' neighbours, the Elliots', were out of town for the holidays this year, and they'd left Anne in charge of house-sitting. Every evening she would slip the brass key from behind the dusty statue of the owl sitting on the front porch and enter the small house to water all of Mrs. Elliot's plants and change the for and water of her pet budgie when needed. Incredibly, stupidly, she had once let Harry come along for one of these trips, and heaven forbid if he'd forgotten where the key was kept.

Well, he knew the Elliots' were out of town, he knew the house was dormant, he knew how to get in, and he knew bloody well that he wanted his own house. So, can he really be blamed for snatching that key and running through the house like there was no tomorrow?

Well, whether blame was due or not, that was precisely what he did, and he had a blast doing so. He remembered plopping down into Mr. Elliot's big, cozy arm chair and flipping through channels on the telly, looking for his favourite show and snacking on some peppermints sitting alone and abandoned on the coffee table.

Harry didn't think about what would happen when the Elliots' returned. He didn't think about the fact that he was all alone in a house that he didn't know how to care for, or about what would happen when his parents realised he wasn't home. In that moment, he was just so _happy_ , because he finally had his own house, after all those years of pining. He was sitting by his stoked fire, he was munching on his candy, and he was in the middle of this big, beautiful home that he could call his- at least, for a little while.

He imagined baking a cake in the kitchen, or crawling into one of those gigantic beds that were thrice his height and at least five times his width, and he imagined what it would be like to live here and do whatever he pleased and to have a warm happy family.

He was pretty damn happy. Hell, he was the happiest he'd ever been, sitting alone in that warm, pretty house. Until his mother ran through the door fifteen minutes later, looking like she was about to have a stroke.

 _"Harold Edward Styles!"_ She'd positively hollered, and Harry had scowled and told her to be quiet; she was disrupting the peace in his house.

At this, his mother had nearly exploded with rage before hurrying to the big comfy chair and grabbing Harry by the hand, tugging him to his feet and out of the common room.

 _"Noooo, mumma, no! This is my house, don't take me away from my house!"_ Harry had begun to cry, fat tears dribbling down his rosy cheeks. No, no, not his house…

 _"This is not your house, Harry. We're going home, and you're getting twenty minutes in time out."_ Anne harumphed, and suddenly Harry was absolutely bawling, because first he was getting his house taken away, and now he was getting a time out? Not two moments ago, life had been so fabulously perfect for him; how had it gotten so horrible so quickly?

Harry had been dragged tooth and nail from that house and back down the sidewalk to his small, cramped room, half littered with Gemma's dolls and with the godforsaken time-out chair, and he hadn't gone quietly. Sitting in that stool, facing the corner, he didn't think life had ever sucked more than it did in that moment; after it had been so good.

Though childish the memory may have been, Harry had never forgotten it. It was still a matter he liked to pout about, and he liked to think that it - the first time he could ever remember having something so wonderful snatched from him - set the ball rolling for every single other suckish event to ever have occurred thereafter.

Not six months later, Harry made the Cheshire Regional Youth Football Team as a defensive player. After that lovely Christmas morning in his neighbour’s house, it was the very best moment of his life.

He would never forget that cocky balloon of joy that momentarily swelled in his chest as his mother helped him wriggle into a jersey that was a bit large on his little shoulders, and he’d never forget that proud smile on his daddy’s face when he took Harry’s hand into his own and, for the first time, said, _“Good job, little buddy.”_

Needless to say, he proceeded to knock down not one, but both nets at his very first game, tear his mate’s jersey while running to the water chest with a goal peg in his fist, and split open his chin in the midst of a rather horrible kick towards the ball and instead falling flat on his face. In between each chaotic event, he somehow managed to let each and every kick from the opposing team right through his legs and into the net. Eventually, the Cheshire team wound up with an impressively horrendous score of one to seven, and Harry wound up with a sympathetic pat on the back and the exhausted, “ _Maybe you should take a break and try again next year, bud.”_

On his thirteenth birthday, Harry celebrated with a few of his friends at the Holmes Chapel Aviary. Most of his mates were having their parties and playdates at Go-Kart tracks and footie matches, but Harry just wanted to spend time at the aviary. It was boring to some, absolutely, but Harry liked the quiet and birds and the gardens, and the sun that seemed to shine no matter how many clouds hovered over the town. The other children seemed to enjoy it, in any case, tossing around an old football in one of the gardens and weaving daisy chains. Around sunset, after the lot had had their pies and ice creams, Molly Cramer kissed Harry under the veranda near the rosebushes. It was the third best moment of his life, not necessarily because the kiss had been so wonder—really, it was just an uncomfortable smoosh of wet lips sticky with icing—but rather because Harry knew that someone else wanted him, wanted to spend time with him and wanted to be with him. It was wonderful.

The next day, Harry went to school only to be told that Molly thought he was a rubbish kisser and that she was desperately in love with Malcolm Abbot. It had been the worst he’d ever felt.

Time after time, it had happened again; receiving a laptop for Christmas only to have it stolen; winning first place in the school talent show only to be told that the votes had been miscounted, and that they’d mistaken Harry Styles for Harold Smith; having a good day, a day when his mind wasn’t being swallowed by that black cloud in his chest, and waking up the next day wishing he could sleep forever.

Well. It goes without saying that when it came to luck, Harry’s guardian angel was on an eternal coffee break. No matter what happened to him, good or bad, things always had a way of either turning themselves around and screwing him over, or of making themselves worse than they already were. Harry thought it was kind of funny, really. But sometimes it got to be a little disheartening.

Now was not one of those times. Life had never been better for Harry. He was surrounded by amazing friends, he was spending ninety percent of his time doing what he loved best, performing; the lads were a shoo-in to take first place in the competition, and he was in love.

In all honesty, however, he probably would have been just fine with nothing but the latter. Love was a funny thing; something as simple as a feeling could turn a person's entire life around- it could tug the clouds away from the sun, give Harry something to look forward to, something to be happy about - and boy, did it make him happy.

And yet, it wasn't just a simple feeling that had him so thrilled. It was just…Well, it was just Louis in general. Louis was special; he was different from the other boys. He seemed to be everything Harry had ever wanted in another person, and he seemed to fill the missing pieces of Harry like a puzzle. He was…everything. Just everything. He turned Harry's world upside down; a roller coaster that had been much-needed.

There was something else that was tugging at Harry's mind, though; something cracking the happy field of flowers and sunshine in his head. The pessimistic corner of his brain was knocking; had been knocking for several days now, reminding Harry that all this….The band's immaculate success, the happy feelings, the way he loved Louis, the way Louis loved him… That maybe, just maybe, it was all too good to be true.

Harry hoped not. God, he hoped not, because if anything dared to ruin his piece of heaven on earth, he wasn't sure what he would do. He had finally reached that point in life; that satisfied sort of trinity that was nothing but content and bliss, the point that everyone waited for and was searching for. Harry was so happy; he had his boys, he had his career, he had his music, and he had his Louis, and that was everything he could ever ask for. He'd be damned if anything or anyone took that away from him.

He should have known better. He _knew_ he should have known better. He _did_ know better, really. Louis was so different from that beautiful house, from the place on the Football team, from the kiss behind the rosebush, from the laptop, from that good day that he never wanted to wake up from. Louis was better; a thousand and a half times better than anything Harry had ever dared to wish for, but that was what scared him more than anything. Yes, he knew better.

He knew this was too wonderful to last. He knew this—the giddy feelings, the butterflies, the silly smile on Louis’s face that was meant just for Harry—was all too good to be true, but he chose to ignore that feeling of impending finish, of disaster waiting to happen. Things were easier that way, pretending to go through life as if it were some infinite ray of sunshine that would never cease. Stupid, maybe, but easier. Besides, it was hard to remember that life had a funny way of royally sucking when the most amazing boy in the world was solidly at his side.

"Are ya' ready, kids?" Louis sang loudly as he watched the television screen, blue eyes bright and smile wide. "Eye-eye, captain!" he echoed faintly, and Harry laughed from where he lay beside him, his legs draped across the other boy’s lap. "I can't hear you," Louis sang again, speaking in time with the cartoon pirate on the telly, and Harry rolled his eyes, wondering how on earth such sheer stupidity could be so endearing. "Eye-eye, captain!" Louis hollered again, and Harry winced as he clapped his free hand over his ear. Damn, the boy had a pair of lungs on him…

"Your turn," Louis said sheepishly, turning to Harry and waiting for him to belt the lyrics of the Spongebob theme song. Harry snorted.

"I don't think so," he grinned, shaking his head, and Louis whined, jiggling slightly with agitation and sending Harry bouncing on the cushions of the sofa.

"Please? You know how it goes!" Louis pouted, jabbing a finger impatiently towards the screen, where cheery music had begun to ring. "C'mon, I did the first part!"

"I never asked you to do anything," Harry teased him, his cheeks aching with his smile as he looked up at the blue eyes, and Louis scowled, looking ridiculously like a bigger, more masculine version of one of his sisters. "You're ridiculous," Harry added fondly, and Louis's scowl only worsened, nose scrunching indignantly.

“C’mon!” Louis pouted, miraculously choosing to ignore Harry’s slight. “C’mon, if you start now, you won’t be late. Ohhhh…” He opened his mouth and tipped his chin back, letting one solid, loud note ring into the room before sliding into giddy song, his eyes bright and his cheeks rounded. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” he began to screech, and Harry only grinned as he rearranged the rumpled cushions to Louis’s right. Louis, lost in focus on the television screen, faded into mumbled tune under his breath, and his lips parted stupidly as he watched familiar cartoon characters flounce about an underwater sketch.

Harry simply smiled, eyes soft and tummy full of butterflies that hadn’t seemed to stop since that day, since that kiss in the woods, and the soft rub of Louis’s finger on his palm, back and forth, lulled him into a sleepy state of bliss.

“I love you.” Louis said suddenly, head whipping round, and so suddenly that Harry jumped, eyes widening. A little smile curled his lips, and red spread across his cheeks.

“I love you too,” he said, voice small, and Louis bit his lip, turning quickly to hide his face from harry, who grinned. “But what was ‘at for?”

“Dunno,” Louis shrugged, that goofy smile still plastered to his lips. “Just…Needed you to hear it.”

“I heard it,” Harry said, voice suddenly quite lower than it had been a moment ago, and Louis blinked, face pink and shy. “Come here,” he said quietly, and he wriggled into Harry’s lap, arms winding around his neck. Harry brought a finger to Louis’s chin and tipped his lips towards his, and _ohboyohboyohboyohboy_ , Harry was kissing this angel of a boy, and yes, he decided silently, this was most definitely too good to be true.

 

❡❡❡

 

“Promise you’ll call, okay?” A devastated Cher sniffled into Louis’s shoulder, tears soaking his jacket as her arms tightened around his waist, and he nodded sighing.

“You know we will, we’ll prank you every day, I swear.”

“Shove off,” Cher smiled, dragging the back of her hand across her face, and Louis grinned, pressing a hearty kiss to her cheek, hugging her once more.

“Budge up, you wimp, you’re fabulous,” He murmured against her ear, and Cher laughed, face puckering as she gave Louis once last squeeze and sliding into Liam’s arms. Louis exhaled, the breath shaky as it left his lips. He was feeling horrible for poor Cher; a girl like her with such big talent and big dreams deserved to be here as much any of the four finalists. It would terrible to see her go, not only because it was awful for her, but because he and the other contestants had grown very close to her in the past two months, and they would miss her quite a lot.

On the other hand, he was feeling a rather massive wave of relief—they were in the final three. There had been over two and a half hundred thousand acts competing against them in the beginning, and there were only three of them left—and Louis was part of that. It was beyond crazy; it was absolutely wild, and Louis never failed to be staggered by just how swell life was going for him at the moment.

Not only was he headed towards national fame as a musician with his mates, but for the first time, he was in love. Even moreso, he was in love with Harry. He was in a silly daydream from which he never, ever wanted to wake.

“Are you okay?” he mumbled gently, stepping up behind the head of curls and resting his chin on his shoulder, sliding his arms around his waist. Harry sniffled, turning his head to peer towards Louis, and Louis took the opportunity to give his lips a soft peck. Harry smiled, despite himself.

“Yeah,” he rumbled, eyelashes damp as he blinked. “Just…I dunno. Not fair that Cher has to go.”

“I know, love. She’ll be all right,” Louis promised. “You’ve seen her. Ten girls’ worth of talent in that little thing.” Harry smiled, nodding.

“You’re right,” he shrugged, sighing. “And we’ll see her soon, on the tour, yeah?” At this, Louis’s stomach bubbled with excited nerves. The fact that, win or lose, the boys were actually going to be touring was just… “I’m excited too,” Harry added, grinning, and Louis bounced on his toes, face scrunching as he buried his face in the dip of Harry’s neck. The taller boy turned, facing Lou, and wriggled his fingers into Louis’s side, tickling him while he pressed playful kisses to Louis’s cheek and shoulder.

“Haz, no!” Louis shrieked, causing several heads to turn and an exaggerated eye-roll from Zayn, and Harry only grinned.

Maybe this wouldn’t last forever, but damn him to hell if he wasn’t going to enjoy it while it did.

 

❡❡❡

 

It was a tradition of the X Factor to host a bonfire the night before the final performances took place, and five days after Cher went home, the last seven contestants, along with the chefs and some of the producing staff and security guards, found themselves loaded with collapsible chairs and armfuls of firewood.

“Niall, quit your whining and help us with this table!” Greg hollered as Niall bellowed about another (the third? Fourth?) splinter in his hand.

“Greg,” Niall called, sounding uncharacteristically grouchy as he lifted one end of the rotting picnic table and helped to heave it towards the firepit, “If my hand becomes infected and I die, it will be on your shoulders, mate.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Greg smiled smoothly, and Niall quietly cussed him out under his breath before letting the table fall unceremoniously on Greg’s toe. While Greg shouted at his retreating back, hopping up and down as he grabbed his foot, Niall scurried into the kitchen to shove his hand into a bag full of marshmallows.

“Fey, Arrish,” he said happily through a mouthful of fluff as Harry strolled through the door, Louis close on his heel, of course.

“Nialler,” Harry nodded, grinning and plucking one of the tipping marshmallows from Niall’s lips before popping it through Louis’s, and Niall grunted in protests while Louis giggled and moshed the mallow against Harry’s cheek.

“You guys are disgusting,” Niall announced before belching loudly, and Louis rolled his eyes, shrieking happily as Harry chucked a marshmallow at his head, and he whizzed out of the kitchen to spring directly onto an unsuspecting Zayn’s back.

“Lou!” Zayn cried, eyes wide, and Louis grinned, planting a loud, wet smooch on Zayn’s cheek, and Zayn wrinkled his nose, laughing. “You’re disgusting,” he added, and Louis cackled.

“So I’ve heard,” he chuckled, and Zayn raised his eyebrows, smiling as he cupped his arms around Louis’s legs and began walking down the porch.

“You seem to be in a brilliant mood, yeah?” he teased, and Louis only smiled, resting his chin on the top of Zayn’s head and leering when Zayn muttered unpleasantly.

“Mmm,” he only hummed, and Zayn snickered.

“By the look of that smile, one would think you’re in love, or something silly like that,” Zayn said sarcastically, and Louis’s ears turned beat red before he thwacked Zayn round the cheek.

“You can’t even see my face, stupid,” he accused, and Zayn rolled his eyes, muttering something about having the maturity of an unborn fetus, but somehow Louis hadn’t heard.

“Oi, you lot!” Liam called to them from the smoking fire now burning against the black night. “It’s ready!”

“Go, Zaynie, go!” Louis hollered, smacking Zayn on the hip and Zayn grumbled under his breath before trudging towards Liam with Louis on his back.

“G’roff, fat-arse,” Zayn teased, wriggling out from beneath Louis and lowering him to the ground, and Louis sniffed in disapproval before turning resolutely away from him and stomping towards the picnic table.

About half an hour later, Rebecca, Matt, Liam, Niall, Zayn, Harry, Louis, the security guards, the cameramen, and the chefs were huddled around the big fire, all pressed for space as their chairs were so tightly crammed together. Niall, a beer in hand and all of the adults suspiciously oblivious, was laughing as he sang some loud, tuneless drinking song, and Liam and Harry were giggling while Zayn smiled lazily and ran his fingers through the Ire’s hair.

“S-so I said,” Niall slurred, drunken giggles leaving his mouth as he cast a dull glance around at the group, “I said, ‘knock, knock,’ and then she said, ‘who’s there,’ and I said, ‘chicken,’ and she was like, ‘chicken who?’” Niall snorted quietly to himself for a long moment before catching his breath and announcing the punchline, “And I was like, ‘chicken bicycle!’” and with that, he collapsed into hysterical laughter, and Louis thought that perhaps the entire city might’ve been able to hear his chortles. Greg shook his head, smiling exasperatedly towards Niall, and took a hearty swig of his own beer.

“You’re a cow, Niall Horan,” he announced, trying to sound annoyed, but the group knew better; that Greg had a soft spot when it came to his favourite contestant. Liam rolled his eyes, patting Greg on the shoulder.

“I don’t get it,” Andrew, one of the other security guards, announced as he bit into a graham, and Niall’s face fell. His lip quivered for a long moment, looking like an abandoned puppy, before he melted against Liam’s arm and began to sob drunkenly while Niall sighed, smiling and patting Niall’s back sympathetically.

“Nice one, Andy,” Greg said quietly, grinning towards his mate, and Andrew shrugged.

Louis let his head fall back against his chair, peering up at the sky. It was a clear night. Usually, because of the city lights, the pollution, and the clouds, all that could be seen up above was a mass of milky black nothing. Tonight, however, several lonely dabs of light were pressing at the curtain, peeking down at Louis and the others; not shining quite as brightly as they should be, but shining all the same.

It was lovely, Louis thought, and when he caught Harry’s eye beside him, he thought that the stars in Harry’s eyes were quite lovely as well. How cheesy of him.

Harry smiled, dimples deepening and chin tucking shyly into his chest as if he knew what Louis was thinking, and Louis winked, offering him a soft smile in return. Things were quiet. The contestants and the staff were talking lowly, crickets were humming in their ears, and the fire blew in a soft, rounded sort of hush in the midst of it all. Louis had never felt so good.

Suddenly Harry, all gangly limbs that were a little too long for the rest of him, crawled out of the dip of his chair and, planting his hands on the arms of Louis’s seat, scrambled clumsily into the older boy’s lap.

“Haz,” Louis grunted, breathless as Harry collapsed against Louis’s chest, lips smiling like a kitten’s as he curled into his arms. “Harry, babe, the chair…It’s not big enough for two people,” he laughed. “And I’m smaller than you!”

“I don’t care,” Harry mumbled, eyes fluttering shut and chin disappearing in the ruff of his jumper as he nuzzled against Louis’s chest, hands curling into loose fists around the fabric of Louis’s coat. Louis smiled, chuckling and sending helpless glances towards the other boys. He wound his arms around Harry’s back and knees as far as he could before he ran out of limb, and tried not to think about just how cute it was that this lanky giraffe of a boy was trying to fit into his small lap.

He didn’t succeed. His cheeks, as a drunken Niall so kindly told him with a smirk and a series of rather crude hand gestures, had never been so bright. Harry smiled at this, his own cheeks blossoming quietly against Louis’s chest as he nestled his nose into the divot of his neck. The butterflies were roaring so avidly in Louis’s tummy, he was surprised Harry couldn’t feel them whiffering through his jumper. He was very heavy on Louis’s legs, all lean muscle and bone and broad torso, but the warm, solid weight of his spindly legs and wide shoulders was so very comforting; it grounded Louis, reminded him of just how real this was, how real Harry was. The nape of his curls tickled Louis’s chin.

“Aw, shit,” Zayn drawled, and Louis peered through the dusk to see a flame-engulfed marshmallow steadily blackening on his stick. He chuckled as Liam leaped to his feet and anxiously puffed on the burning puff until only smoke wafted from its crispy shell.

“Lucky,” Louis heard Harry whine from his arms as he peeked over the edge of his collar and towards Zayn.

“What?” Zayn squawked, gaping at him. “I can’t eat this! It’d taste like iron.”

“That’s the best way to do it, though,” Harry mumbled, voice a sleepy rasp as his eyelashes fluttered against Louis’s chest.

“You’re mad,” Zayn shook his head, frowning in disgust as he tried to peel the bits of black sugar off of his roast. Eventually, he tossed it into the flames with a grunt, and shunted a new marshmallow onto his stick. Harry yelped quietly, eyes widening as he watched the burnt one tumble into the fire.

“Why, Zayn?” he whimpered, and Zayn grinned.

“Just make your own,” He shrugged to Harry, who grunted with indignation as if this was the stupidest idea he’d ever heard.

“But then I would have to move,” he mumbled, snuggling deeper into Louis’s arms. “And I don’t really feel like it.”

“Don’t make him move, Zayn,” Louis laughed quietly, and Harry giggled into Louis’s sleeve. The other three, on queue, shared an exaggerated, not-at-all-hidden eye roll. “He’s staying right here, eh?” Louis added, cheeks positively flaming and lips grinning as he ducked his head to press a soft kiss to Harry’s mouth. Well, if Louis had been red before, Harry was an abundance of roses now. mimed vomiting into the firepit a smile stretched Harry’s cheeks.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Liam murmured cheerfully, sliding a new marshmallow onto his stick for Harry and sticking it in the flames.

“Can you make it really crispy?” Harry peeped, only his eyes visible from where he hid in Louis’s lap. Louis answered before Liam could.

“Course he can, don’t worry about it,” he said, and the other three rolled their eyes towards one another again, still not quite used to the extreme and rather ridiculous amounts mushiness of their best friends’ relationship. Liam only grinned, shaking his head and watching anxiously as Harry’s marshmallow ignited, flaming happily in the dark.

“No, not yet!” Harry said as Liam moved to blow out the flame, and Liam sent him a stern look before snuffing the burning treat.

“Happy?” Liam asked, not quite serious as he slid the mallow in between two grahams and a square of chocolate before handing it to Louis, and Harry nodded.

“Thanks, Li, love you loads.”

“You better,” Liam said, but he was smiling, and Harry grinned as he wormed his hands free to eat.

“Oh, Haz,” Louis groaned as Harry took a massive bite out of the little sandwich and melted marshmallow melted onto Louis’s coat. “What’ve you done?”

“Sorry, Lou, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!” Harry apologized anxiously, mouth full, and bits of graham cracker fell from his lips. He swallowed, throat bobbing, and looked wildly over his shoulder. “I’ll get you a wet wash clothe, or a paper towel, or—”

“Shut up, idiot, it’s okay,” Louis laughed, this time him rolling his eyes as he inspected the sticky smudge of white on his coat.

“But it’s all icky,” Harry protested, nose wrinkling. “And all over your good coat!”

“That’s why we have these things called washing machines, love,” Louis teased him, smiling, and Harry pursed his lips sheepishly. “It’ll be okay, I told you. Don’t you worry your very, very, very pretty little head, all right?” Harry snuffled, cheeks burning as he hid his red face in the soft of Louis’s chest, and Louis stifled a giddy giggle.

“Doo Buysch uhl bruhmerkuroush,” Andrew rolled his eyes through an alarmingly large mouthful of chocolate, and Zayn chuckled sleepily from across the fire.

“Are not,” Harry whined quietly, dimples deepening sulkily as he wormed his way deeper into Louis’s arms, and suddenly Louis really didn’t care what the others had to say about how foolish they may act around one another.

“He’s just jealous,” Liam said, sending Harry a warm smile, and Harry nodded, his grin lost in the fabric of Louis’s coat.

“As he should be,” Louis smirked happily, resting his chin on the crown of Harry’s head and winding the fingers of his free hand through the forest of limp curls. Harry stifled a giggle, his lips tilting into a sleepy smile, and as he lay on Louis’s chest his cheek smooshed against his shoulder. The sounds of Niall’s intoxicated sobs reached them from across the crackling fire.

“So good, he wept, sneezing into Greg’s coat, and Greg groaned in disgust. “You guys… Larry and Houis…So lovely together.”

“Thank you, Nialler,” Louis laughed quietly, biting his lip as Harry snuggled into his chest.

“So lovely…” Niall breathed, eyes shut as drifted off, his face smooshed quiet ridiculously against the arm of Greg’s chair, and Liam tutted, draping Niall’s jacket over the sleeping boy’s shoulders.

“Finally,” Greg muttered at Niall’s soft snores began to fill the air, and he rose to his feet with a massive stretch. “Well, I’m off to bed. Big day tomorrow,” he winked at the contestants, “Night, all.”

“I think I’m off too,” Zoe sighed, and Andrew stood with a yawn and a tired nod. “Don’t stay up long, or you’ll be late for breakfast, she added sternly, and the contestants waved her off sleepily, all grinning to themselves. The cooks and guards followed the other three inside, all muttering something about staff call tomorrow morning, and the contestants fell into drowsy silence around the fire.

Zayn and Niall took turns patting Niall on the back to keep his mumbling to a minimum, and Louis ran his fingers over and over again through Harry’s hair, tips brushing his ear and temple. He felt Harry’s eyes shut and open every few moments, the touch of his lashes on Louis’s chest. His fingered tightened around his waist. God, was this boy special to him.

The night sailed quietly around the fire, Matt, Rebecca, and Liam eventually heading inside to get some sleep, and the flames very slowly trickling little by little into little more than glowing embers the colour of the sun.

“I should probably get this idiot into bed,” Zayn grinned, nodding towards the sleeping Niall slumped across his chair, and Louis nodded, smiling and blowing a kiss in the two boys’ directions. “Night,” Zayn whispered, sending them a fond glance before shaking Niall’s shoulder and mumbling reassurances to him as he helped him back to the house. The two boys were quiet for a long while, Harry listening to the steady thrum of Louis’s heart beneath his ear and Louis listening to the crackling of the fire before them, his thumb running up and down Harry’s side.

Finally, Louis brought his left hand up to Harry’s face, and tipped his chin upwards. Harry craned his neck, big doe eyes blinking into Louis’s and he tilted his face towards the sky to bring their mouths together. Louis smiled against his lips, sighing quietly as he let his forehead rest against Harry’s, and he wound a fingerful on curls gently round his hand, thumb brushing the boy’s cheek. The two of them were silent, simply smiling gently and kissing to the sound of the fire and the crickets, lips warm and damp and cheeks hot.

“Kind of scary, innit?” Harry finally whispered, rough, sleepy voice warm against Louis’s chin, and Louis closed his eyes, smiling.

“Didn’t know my kisses were that bad. If they’re terrifying you, I could try a mint strip or summat—” He joked, and Harry giggled, smacking him lightly on the chest.

“No, idiot, that’s not what I was talking about.”

“Ah, so my kissing skills are pretty phenomenal, then?” Louis grinned, blinking softly down into Harry’s face, and Harry smiled, rolling his eyes.

“I wouldn’t go so far as ‘phenomenal,’ you cocky—”

“You watch your mouth, princess, or it won’t be seeing much of mine,” Louis teased him, and Harry chuckled, resting his head against Louis’s chest. After a long moment, Louis resumed the soft stroking of his curls and asked, “What’s scary?” Harry was quiet before he replied.

“Just… I dunno. The idea of things happening any differently.”

“D’you mean?” Louis asked, a little lost in his sleepy, fluttery state, and Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully, struggling to keep himself awake.

“I mean, like…” and he turned to look up at Louis once more. “What if I’d been sick the day of auditions? What if you’d had to watch your sisters?” Louis was quiet. This was something he’d thought about over and over again. “What if my voice had cracked during my audition, or what if you’d forgotten the lyrics? What if they’d…” Harry bit his lip. “What if they’d chosen another lad over me to put in the group? What if they hadn’t put together a new band at all?” The two of them were silent. “We…us…This wouldn’t have happened, would it?” Harry whispered, face suddenly so naïve and anxious that Louis wanted to pepper his cheeks with fond kisses.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair and grabbing a blanket from the ground. He silently unraveled the fold of the blanket and draped it over his shoulder, tucking Harry against his chest in a tight cocoon—Just Harry and Louis, growing into something lovely together. Harry’s chin peeped over the edge of the soft blanket.

“Course it would have,” Louis said finally, letting his cheek slump against the top of Harry’s head, and he tightened the blanket around the two of them. Harry’s brow wrinkled, and his lips puckered in confusion. “Don’t you think,” Louis said gently, “That I would have found you somehow?" Harry's eyes were wide,  anxious and soft as he blinked up at Louis, bow lips peeping over the edge of his coat.  

"You would have?"

"Of course," Louis murmured.  "If not on the show, then maybe at a footie match, or something like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry whispered, smiling. “How’d that be?”

“You’d bump into me and spill your soda all down my front,” Louis chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Clumsy bugger. And then you’d apologise over and over again, until the sound of your face made me want to jump off a bridge.”

“How romantic,” Harry noted tersely, and Louis grinned.

“Hold on, lovely. You’d beg me to let me make it up to, offering to buy me another blouse, another pair of trousers, a drink of my own…”

“And?” Harry smiled.

“And finally, you’d offer to buy me a coffee, and I’d throw my hands into the air and said, ‘Fine, if it gets you to leave me alone.’”

“Why I am I the idiot?” Harry whined, and Louis tittered.

“Because you’re always an idiot, darling,” he noted fondly, and Harry huffed against his sweater. “You’d meet me at the coffee shop, and we’d have a lovely time, and I’d accidentally-on-purpose forget where I parked my car, and you—charitable, lovely little push-over—would beg me to let you walk me home, and half way there you’d hold my hand and I’d kiss you on my porch.”

“That’d be nice,” Harry said, a smile so wide on his face that Louis was surprised his cheek didn’t crumble. “But I don’t think it’d happen like that. I wouldn’t spill my drink all over you.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Louis teased. “Fine. Then how would we meet? Go on, then.”

“We’d meet…” Harry said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “At a concert, or summat. We’d somehow happen to buy seats next to one another’s, and I’d use my irresistible charm to get you head over heels for me within the first five—”

“Hey!” Louis squawked, grinning as he thwacked Harry playfully round the head, and Harry giggled childishly, burying his face in Louis’s chest.

“Well, I would,” Harry grinned. “And I’d have nicked your wallet so you wouldn’t have any money for food, and then I’d offer to buy you a pretzel or something, and before the end of the concert you’d mysteriously find your wallet again, but by some miracle there’d suddenly be some hot guy’s phone number in the pocket.”

“Oh, some hot guy, eh?” Louis drawled, grinning lazily while Harry snickered, clearly quite pleased with himself. “Fine, have it your way. What concert would we go to?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged, smiling and sitting up slightly in Louis’s lap to peer into his face. “Probably _Take That_ or _The Script,_ or summat.” Louis smiled.

“I went to a _Script_ concert once. Pretty great.”

“Really?” Harry asked, grinning. “Me too. One in Liverpool.”

“Nah, you couldn’t have. That was mine.” Louis said, and Harry’s nose wrinkled.

“Yeah, definitely Liverpool, on the eleventh of September. At the uni?”

Louis’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened stupidly for a long moment, and as he gaped at Harry, and before he knew it he’d cupped the boy’s cheeks in his hands and was kissing him so feverishly, the heat of the fire before them was all but forgotten, because if there was such a thing as fate, this must have been a part of it, Louis thought.

All he could see and hear and feel were green eyes and curls and flushed cheeks and stupid jokes and a rough, slow voice; and all Harry could see and hear and feel were blue orbs and brown locks and cunning smiles and fond glances.

 _Oh,_ Louis thought, _There you are_.


	26. I Can't Spell

❡❡❡

 

The boys lost The X Factor on December 12. It hadn’t come as much of a shock, really; seeing as they were a new, fairly inexperienced boyband up against two of the most talented performers in the country, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Harry’d had one hand wrapped around Liam’s on his left and the other settled on Louis’s waist to his right as Simon had squeezed his shoulder, the muscles in his big hand tight and tense. When Rebecca’s name had rung from Dermot’s microphone, his heart had dropped to his ankles.

He’d heard Zayn sigh from Lou’s other side, and Liam’s fingers had fallen from his as Harry’d pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep the heat from his eyes as while they burned. He’d felt Louis’s eyes on his face, and then the touch of his hand to his hip—not much, but enough—before the older boy had remembered that they were currently being televised before sixty-eight million people across the kingdom, and he’d stepped back.

Now, as they were herded backstage by a quiet Simon and an eager camera crew, Harry dragged his knuckles across his wet cheek, and he was tucked into a tight hug.

“Hey,” Louis murmured, his own voice resigned as he stood on his toes to rest his chin on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, sniffling loudly and blinking, trying very hard to regain his composure before the glinting lenses caught sight of his slick face. He pressed his lips frantically to the warmth of Louis’s neck before stepping hastily out of the embrace and peering over his shoulder towards the cameras. He didn’t let go of Louis’s hand.

The band had a few minutes in the green room to quiet down and greet their families – apart from Harry’s, who had been stranded in Cheshire due to some flooding, and Niall’s, who couldn’t afford to make the flight from Ireland to London. Each of the Tomlinsons had a sympathetic embrace and a kiss on the cheek for him, Lottie bright red as she delivered hers and Jay’s arms warm as she rubbed his back. Savan pulled the five of them aside, offering each boy a hug and telling the band that he was proud of them.

“Don’t be sad, Harry,” Fizzy pouted, lips scrunched with frustration as she bounced at his side. “You’re ugly when you’re sad.”

“He is not,” Louis murmured intently, sliding his hands around Harry’s waist, and Harry leaned into his chest, sending Fizz a watery smile.

“’M an ugly crier, am I?” he asked, and Fizz giggled, shaking her head while Louis rolled his eyes, cheek touching Harry’s. “What d’you think, Lou? On a scale of one to Fizzy, how ug—”

“Hey!” Fizz whined, furious as she stomped on Harry’s foot, and Harry was torn between wincing and laughing as he dabbed at his sore eyes.

“If you’re ugly, then up must be down and hot must be cold,” Louis informed him with a small smile, and Harry bit his lip, blushing despite the glum mood that hung over the room.

“And Zayn must be modest,” he replied, thinking, and Louis laughed quietly, bells in Harry’s ears.

“And Niall must be full.” Louis added, and Harry snickered, finally feeling a little bit better after their disappointing elimination.

“And Liam must be an alcoholic, and you must be somewhat normal.”

“Hey!” Louis sulked, sounding ridiculously like his sister, and Harry grinned, taking the opportunity to press a soft, sad kiss to his mouth, and Louis seemed to be over the mild insult once he clonked Harry’s forehead with his own.

“Boys?” Simon said solemnly from the entrance of the green room. “Can I see you and your parents in my office for a moment?”

Five minutes later, Harry was seated between Zayn and Niall, armed wrapped around Niall’s tense shoulders, while Louis and Liam stood with their parents behind the three of them, eyes wide and nervous.

“First of all,” Simon said, business filling his voice. “I want to congratulate you boys. You came into the live shows unrehearsed and unfamiliar, and all teenagers—and you’ve come out in third place. You’re a very special group, and I cannot be prouder to have represented you this year.”

_Have_ , Harry noted dully as his fingers flew to his mouth. Did this mean Simon was finished with them? They were done…Oh no, no, no…He knew this was going to happen.

“While you are a very talented band, I think this is quite honestly the best decision that could have been made for you boys,” Simon continued quietly. “I don’t think you have the experience you’d need in order to take first place, nor do I think you boys are ready for such a title. Like I said, a group thrown together at the last minute presents The X Factor with a very big challenge, and ultimately with some significant risks. We’d also have been held responsible for guaranteeing your success once free from the show, which is not under any circumstances assured. Surely, you boys understand this.” 

The boys didn’t respond. Harry suddenly felt frozen in his seat, the muscles in his jaw locked tight. Simon pursed his lips, eyes on his desk.

“Erm, right. Secondly, I want to discuss what your plans are individually after the show.” Simon said, and Harry’s heart dropped like a rock into the pit of his stomach. _Individually._ Oh. He bit his nails, eyes suddenly feeling rather wet again as Niall sniffled beside him. “Zayn and Liam, I remember you signing on your applications that you both hold places at universities in England. Is this prevailing?”

“Yes,” Zayn whispered while Liam’s mother nodded beside her son, and Liam swallowed, face white.

“Fantastic. Niall and Harry, I believe you planned on beginning you’re A-Levels at the beginning of the semester.” Harry and Niall nodded together, throats suddenly too tight to carry their voices. “And Louis, you’ve got a position held for you at a record shoppe in Bentley; am I correct?” Simon continued, and Louis blinked, turning towards his mother.

“Yes, he’ll be working in Bentley,” she murmured, her hand on her son’s shoulder, and with this inauthentic confirmation—the apparent news that the band would disperse—all five boys seemed to melt on the spot.

“All right,” Simon murmured to himself, scribbling something across a line of forms, and he slid a paperclip from a thick sheathe of papers to his right. Face hot, Harry bit his lip, moisture starting to bubble in his eyes once more. He couldn’t…he couldn’t believe it. It was really over. The boys, they were on their own now; and even if they did decide to remain together, they would have no help, no assistance in getting gigs or performances, no equipment, no transportation, no funds… Hell, Niall lived across the Irish Sea.

There would be no more late nights playing footie matches on the telle, no more campfires behind the house, no more cranky breakfasts at some ungodly hour of the morning, no unproductive rehearsals, no more stages, no more performances, No more One Direction…It really _was_ over.

“Right,” Simon muttered again, and he shuffled the stack of papers with a sharp clack on the surface of the desk, and Harry jumped, lashes beading with unshed tears. Zayn sighed shakily beside him, dragging his thumb over wet eyes. Harry didn’t have the heart to turn, to look at Niall, who’d been so excited to be a singer; to look at Liam, who’d wanted this so badly for so long; to look at Louis…

“Liam and Zayn, I would appreciate it if you would give me the telephone numbers of the colleges to which you are applied, and Louis, I’d like the number of the Bentley shoppe.” The three boys blinked, brows wrinkled slightly, and Liam rubbed his red eyes, peering curiously towards Simon.

“Sure,” Louis muttered, eyes on his feet.

“Now, boys, I’d like you to listen closely,” Simon said coolly, scooting forward slightly in his chair. “I don’t think you understand how physically and emotionally grueling it is to be a band of performing celebrities. I need you five to know that it is not in your benefit to exceed to such high levels of fame. I think you’re too young and you’re too unprepared, and it would be irresponsible of me to put you in a position like that. Do you understand this?”

The five boys nodded. There was not much else they could do.

“Good. I hope you also understand,” Simon continued, sliding the stack of papers across the desk, and the boys frowned. “That it is for this reason that I am not going to sign you to any major deals. It would be disadvantageous for both you lot and me.” A moment of silence passed, and Simon leaned back in his chair, fingers clasped thoughtfully. “That’s why I am going to start you out small. Syco Records will be by tomorrow morning to sign you to a five hundred thousand-pound contract.”

The silence stretched. It seemed as if no one had heard him, and then…

All five boys blinked in surprise.

 

❡❡❡

 

“Thank you,” Harry blubbered for what must have been the thirtieth time as he threw his arms around Simon’s neck yet again. “Thank you, thank you…”

“Harry, you are _welcome_ ,” Simon sighed again, a sort of amused exasperation in his voice as he rolled his eyes towards the other four; however the rest of the band was too busy either eagerly phoning the remainders of their families or crying into their parents’ shoulders. Niall and Fizzy seemed to be doing some spastic jig together in the corner of the office, each shrieking with delight.

“Oh, God,” Liam was muttering to himself as his mum rubbed his shoulder, pride shining from every inch of her face as he son ran his hands over his teary eyes. “Thank…Thank God…”

“Please, have a seat, boys,” Simon chuckled, gently detaching Harry’s shaking arms from around his neck and returning to his desk chair, the aura of business falling over him almost immediately once more like a curtain.

“You’re a bloody tosser, you are,” Zayn growled grumpily as he glared at Simon from across the wide desk. “You had me right terrified.” Simon raised an eyebrow, though the cheeky grin was broad on his face.

“I deeply apologise, Zayn,” he said, and Harry vaguely detected a note of sarcasm in his voice, and Zayn huffed, trying very hard not to smile with the recent news of the band’s record deal. Harry made no such effort, and the shaky grin would not leave his face.

_It wasn’t over. It wasn’t…_ They were a band indefinitely. They would tour, they would record _albums_ , they would rehearse together, write songs… _Oh my God_ , he thought, his face growing warm with the brilliance of this all. His job was going to be singing. His job, his _career_ , the thing he did for a living, would be music. This was, quite literally, his dream come true.

Well, not quite – in this reality, he had Louis; he had his mates. This outshone any dream Harry ever could have imagined.

_Wait until he told his mum…_ His stomach was writhing with butterflies.

“Tonight, you boys will return to the house, and we’ve booked inn reservations for your families and your respective lawyers. Tomorrow morning, security will drop the five of you,” Simon pointed to each of the five boys, “Off here at Wembley. Parents, I ask that you and your attourneys arrive at this office at nine AM. Is that arrangeable?” Each of the parents nodded vigorously, Liam’s mother still dabbing at her eyes with a kerchief, and Simon clapped his hands together briefly. “I’d like you to very _carefully_ consider your futures, please,” Simon continued, pleading slightly. “Tonight, think about what this record deal will mean to you. This is, by no means, an agreement to enter into lightly.” Each lad nodded, understanding.

“Well, boys,” he said, rising to his feet and walking around the desk once more. “It has been an immense privilege working with you. I look forward to continuing to do so in the very near future.” Simon smiled, sincere affection in his eyes as he proudly shook each boy’s hand and nodded politely towards the five adults in the room. “Of course, you may remain to watch the rest of the show, though unfortunately I don’t think there’s much time left. I apologise. In any case, I ask that you return to the house at your earliest conveniences. You’ve had a long haul, boys. Go get some rest. I’m proud of you.” Harry’s cheeks burned pleasedly and he bit his lip, exchanging a giddy smile with Niall to his right, and Simon clapped each boy on the shoulder, herding them out of the office.

The families parted, the Tomlinson sister’s delivered a hug to each boy (they’d developed a thrilled sort of affection for Niall, who couldn’t seem to put Phoebe down as he whizzed her around the studio on his shoulders) and Jay pressed fond kisses to Louis’s and Harry’s cheeks. They were gone, and the boys were the boys. The show had ended – Matt had won! What an incredible achievement – and the boys crowded into the black SUV with Andy and Greg, heading back to the house as if it were any other ordinary night on the show.

Tonight, however, things were quite busy inside the house. All three of the finalists had, of course, received deal offers – once the third place contestants had received an offer, it was inevitable that the winner and runner-up would also – and the inhabitants were alive and bubbly with thoughts of albums, concerts, interviews, and music. The sheer aura of joy and hyperactivity running through the wars was felt quite physically by every person in the house – the buzz was contagious, and Harry could not push the aching grin off of his cheeks, try as he may.

Everyone, especially Matt, seemed too excited to eat any supper, and the night consisted of breathless chatter of racing hearts – “I swear, the audience could hear my pulse through the microphone!” – and exhilarated ecstasy – “We were shocked, I say, completely shocked!” – and, particularly upon the parts of Zayn and Rebecca, many emotional tears. Eventually, at half past one, Zoe and Andrew cleared the seven euphoric contestants out of the common room and upstairs to bed, discretely slipping a sleeping pill in Niall’s glass of milk as he did so.

Zayn, probably exhausted from the amount of happy tears he’d quietly shed over the course of the evening, conked out the moment his head hit the pillow, and Niall – undoubtedly with help of Andrew’s pill – was mumbling in his sleep within moments. Harry, Louis, and Liam, on the other hand, could not stop shaking in their bunks, excitement and thrill pumping their systems with adrenaline, and as Harry kicked the sheets off of his legs and rolled noisily over in bed, he realised he was not about to fall asleep any time soon.

Finally, the odd sounds of Liam tossing and turning in his slumber reached his ears over an hour later, and the moment he registered that three of the boys had fallen asleep, he sat up in his bunk.

“Lou,” he whispered, just as Louis whispered Harry’s name, and Harry stifled a quiet giggle, tucking his feet into his slippers and sliding silently down onto the floor to peer into Louis’s bunk. Louis’s cheeks were flushed with exhilaration with the evening’s events, eyes still shining, and harry dimly thought in the dark of the night that Louis had never looked so… pretty. Louis didn’t say a word as he wriggled into his own galoshes. Eyes fluttering shyly, he scooted to the edge of his mattress and rose to his feet, grabbing Harry’s hand tightly in his and tiptoeing towards the door.

“Where are we go—” Harry began, much too loudly for the sleepy room, and Louis hushes him quickly, rolling his eyes.

“Quiet down, you idiot, or we’ll wake them,” he giggled, and Harry pursed his lips, letting Louis drag him down the corridor and towards the stairs. Harry snagged his coat from the rack sitting beside the front door and slid his arms through its sleeves as Louis carefully slipped out into the icy winter night.

“C’mon,” Louis whispered, tugging Harry along beside him as he strolled around the house and towards the vast field of snow lying to the east. They walked in silence, each peering nervously over their shoulders, for many moments, before Louis suddenly slowed, his feet scuffing lazily over the crunchy ice. Harry turned, realising they were a good two hundred yards from the dark house, and caught Louis’s eye.

The two of them simply stared at one another for long, unending moment before, shaky sighs falling from each of their mouths, their arms wound around one another, and Harry crushed Louis to his chest in a grateful hug.

“Thank God,” Louis breathed, his chin poking Harry’s shoulder as he rose on his toes, “I thought… Jesus, Simon’s a right fucker.”

“I know,” Harry laughed, and to his embarrassment his eyes were beginning to burn again. “Thought that was it, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, voice shaking, though Harry couldn’t be sure whether it was from nerves or cold. “I mean… Without the boys, without you… That was bloody scary.”

“It’s not, though,” Harry murmured, eyes closing as his lips brushed Louis’s ear, “It’s not, we’re here, we’re being signed… This is happening, Lou!” his voice broke, a wide grin suddenly cracking his face as he recoiled to look into his love’s face, “This, the band…”

“Us,” Louis smiled breathlessly, and Harry nodded, never feeling so giddy in his life. Louis, grinning like an idiot, tugged Harry back into his embrace, dancing on his heels and laughing quietly in his ear. “Oh my God,” Louis grinned. “This is like… real. This is you and me, and…” Louis tipped his head back, smiling up into the starry sky, bright and shimmery tonight. “Wow. Who would have thought I’d fall in love with Harry Curly Styles?” 

“You did,” Harry reminded him, and Louis blushed, giggling and ducking into Harry’s chest, mumbling a whiny, “I knoooow!” while Harry grinned. 

“Look!” Harry hollered suddenly, and scowled as Louis hushed him, nodding towards the house. Harry ducked out of Louis’s arms to hurry out into the field, tipping his head back and gaping happily upward. “Snowflakes!” He declared, and Louis stared at him for a solid minute before a soft smile broke his cheeks, and crossed his ankles to watch Harry stumble around the ice, catching snowflakes on his tongue. How… How in the… He sighed, helplessly shaking his head as he wondered when the hell he’d become such a lucky bastard. 

Harry turned, face shining like the sun despite the late hour, and danced clumsily towards Louis, slippers kicking up snow as he trundled, and he slid his hands over Louis’s waist, grinning gently into his face. 

"Dance with me?" Harry said, and it shouldn't have sounded like a question, but that was just Harry; always hesitant and nervous and just wanting to do everything for Louis... Louis actually smirked, thinking of how very Harry that was. 

"We're the only ones here. We're in the middle of an empty park." 

“And?” Harry asked, drawing out the word and blinking innocently as he smiled against Louis’s cheek. 

"And there's no music, and I'm freezing my arse off. Besides," Louis asked, definitely teasing him now, "Is this just you trying to live out one of your perfect fantasies from a silly romance film?" 

"I dunno about silly," Harry grumbled, soft and indignant, and Louis grinned so hard his cheeks ached. 

"Very silly," he confirmed, smiling as he leaned back and tapped Harry playfully on the chin. 

"So?" Harry asked, smiling slightly. "You make very silly, Louis Tomlinson. You make my heart do silly things," he bent, wrapping his arms around Louis's waist and Nuzzling Louis cheek against his own. "You make my stomach feel like its falling through my feet. You make my head silly. You make it spin." He pressed a kiss to the shell of Louis's ear, and it was so tender that Louis's cheeks blossomed with blush. "Nothing wrong with silly." 

"Fair point," Louis whispered, voice cracking, limbs seemingly frozen in the cold, despite the warmth of Harry's fuzzy mittens and wool-clad chest; of his mouth on Louis skin. 

"Dance with me," Harry whispered, breath hit, comforting. "Pretty please?" 

"We'll, you know I can't resist an aesthetically attractive please," Louis murmured, and Harry giggled, shoulders shaking against Lou's, and Louis heart definitely did not melt in his chest. Definitely not. "Fine," he whispered, smiling, "Have your dance, you silly thing." He could feel Harry's stupid smile against his shoulder, and he buried his own little grin in the fuzz of his darling’s coat. Hands fumbling, he plucked cashmere between his fingers and tugged the ridiculous mittens from Harry's wrists, and Harry's fingers- long and blue and gentle in the cold - wriggled over Louis's waist, palms settling in the dip of his back. Louis worked his arms up Harry's frame, nothing but long and lean, and let them fall over his shoulders. 

"C'mere," Louis whined. "S'cold," and he tugged Harry forward, just a little, their chests bumping. Louis let his eyes close, and his smile was hidden in Harry as his forehead touched his shoulder, sleepy and gentle… 

“Budge up, then, you,” Harry whispered, the smile heard in his voice as he wriggled his arms free of his massive coat, and as he tucked the fabric around Louis’s shoulders and bundled the two of them together, Louis’s heart melted like butter in his chest. He suddenly couldn’t keep that pinched, delighted little smile off of his face. Harry’s long, clumsy fingers struggled as they buttoned the coat over Louis’s back, binding them to one another like two kids in one sleeping bag, and Louis sighed as Harry’s warmth radiated through his chilly limbs. 

“Better?” Harry asked, voice quiet and low, and it was just… He was just so… God, he thought yet again, Am I not the luckiest bastard on earth? 

“Loads,” he breathed, his nose nudging Harry’s jaw, and he pressed his lips against Harry’s pulse for a long moment. 

“You missed,” Harry whispered, nose touching Louis’s cheek, and Louis snickered, grinning against the skin of Harry’s neck. 

“Nope,” he teased him. “I never miss.” 

“But you just did,” Harry protested. “By about thirteen, fourteen… by about a jaw length and a half.” Louis laughed, his voice a quiet bell in the silence of the snow, and Harry wriggled one of his bound arms up through the coat to cup Louis’s chin in his palm. “Shall I help you correct your mistake?” 

“Only if you like,” Louis whispered, eyes gooey and smile silly as he peered up at Harry, whose nose wrinkled and his lips smiled like a kitten’s, and his eyes had never looked so soft as he touched a soft kiss to Lou’s mouth. So warm, so soft…so everything… Lips and tongues melded for a lovely moment, and Harry let his mouth flutter up to Louis’s cheek, and to his nose…And back to his cheek… 

“Ah,” Louis murmured quietly as Harry kissed his forehead. “I see my mistake.” 

“What?” Harry gasped quietly, eyes wide as he drew back—well, as far as he could with the coat trapping them together. “Are my ears deceiving me, or is Louis Tomlinson actually admitting that he was wrong?” 

“If my hands were free, I’d smack you,” Louis growled, and Harry giggled, sounding quite pleased with himself. 

“One step ahead of you, darling,” he mumbled, head on Louis’s shoulder as he thumbed the edge of the coat, and Louis sighed, rolling his eyes and smiling at the night. 

“Thought we were supposed to be dancing,” he noted tersely. 

“Right you are,” Harry murmured, as with that, he began to step quite intentionally on Louis’s toes. 

“Hey,” Louis whined, curling his feet upward under Harry’s weight. “I’m the short one!” 

“Another shocking admission from Louis Tomlinson. Two in one minute!” Harry mused, and as Louis scowled, face wrinkling, he hopped very deliberately onto Harry’s feet, their eyes now level. “Is it just me, or has a leaf just landed on my toes?” Harry added, grinning happily as he taunted Louis, and Louis’s eyes narrowed. 

“Nuh-uh,” he grumbled, digging his heels into Harry’s boots. “There aren’t any leaves in the winter, stupid.” 

“Are too,” Harry argued, eyes lighting up at once, and suddenly Louis had the ominous impression that a Harry Story was on its way. “One time in Cheshire, we were at the zoo in January, and there was this little tree growing by the fountain thing. It was cherry tree, I think…or maybe a Linden…Or a pine… Huh. Don’t remember. I remember that it had these short, stubby branches, so it probably wasn’t a cherry tree… Or a Linden…Or a pine. Hmm. I mean, it was definitely quite colourful, because I remember it was really bright against the snow and the sidewalk—even though sometimes, in the winter, the snow is very bright because the sun makes it sparkly. You know, when we’ve got lovely weather and the snow glitters? That’s so lovely. Anyway, there was definitely a tree, and I remember that it definitely had leaves, because Gemma picked one up and tried to feet it to one of the monkeys. I think it was a spider monkey…but then again, it had a reddish sort of coat. Maybe it was a howler monkey, or…or… or one of those—” 

Suddenly, Harry wasn’t speaking anymore, because his lips were too busy being kissed to continue talking. 

“Lou,” Harry whined, once the smaller boy had let Harry’s bottom lip go, “It’s rude to interrupt.” 

“Sorry, love,” Louis whispered, grinned sheepishly, his eyes a bit too fond as he peered into Harry’s, “I stopped listening at cherry trees.” 

“Tosser,” Harry grumbled, “I’d hate you if you weren’t such a good kisser.” 

“Flattery,” Louis noted sarcastically, and Harry bit his lip, smirking. 

“I do like kissing you,” Harry said shyly, cheeks reddening, and Louis’s ears were suddenly quite pink as well. 

“Me too,” he said automatically, “I mean, kissing you,” he added breathlessly, and Harry smiled, eyes soft as he cradled Louis’s face in his hands, his thumb trailing the older boy’s cheek. 

“You’re very pretty, you know,” Harry murmured quietly, and screw pink; Louis’s had probably combusted by now. He would have been indignant at this – he was not pretty, he was handsome – but somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself be upset. No, not at all. 

“You,” he murmured sleepily, stumbling clumsily over his words as let his forehead touch Harry’s chin, “You’re… You’re quite lovely. Curls and green, and all.” He yawned like a kitten, and Harry’s knees nearly buckled. “I think… I think you’re very pretty too,” he said shyly, and Harry’s cheeks tangibly heated beneath the curtain of cold surrounding them. “I love you, you know,” Louis added with a gentle whisper, drowsy butterflies floating serenely around his midriff as he nestled his cheek into the hollow of Harry’s neck. He’d never felt so sincere in his life, and he kind of really loved it. He really, really loved it – he really loved his boy, his Harry. 

“I love you too, babe,” Harry murmured into Louis’s hair, voice low and rough, and if the soft, warm beat of Harry’s heart against Louis’s hadn’t lulled him to sleep, then the touch of Harry’s lips on his cheek blurred his thoughts.

All he remembered of the rest of the night was the slow swing of his legs through the air as Harry lifted him into his arms and carried him back to bed, fingers running gentle trails back and forth on his waist and calves, but not before Louis slumped against Harry’s chest in the middle of that crystalized field, Harry’s voice murmuring, “Lou? Louis?” and a soft chuckle, followed by an even softer, “Goodnight, love.”


	27. Insomniac's Lullaby

❡❡❡

 

Louis had never felt so relaxed – perhaps none of the boys had; for the first time since March of that year, they weren’t worrying about auditions, performances, vocal rehearsals, choreography, or voting – they didn’t have any expectations to fulfill for three entire weeks, no work, no anything but one another and their personal lives until January the third, when it was stated that their contract, which they were meant to be signing with Simon in a few hours, would take effect.

For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about whether or not he could hit the high note in that week’s song, or if he had enough time to shower before evening rehearsals. There was him, there was Niall, there was Liam, there was Zayn, and there was his Harry, all together in the X House for one more terrific day and night before going home for Christmas and beginning their careers as band musicians in the new year. Things could not have been going more perfectly for him. 

Well, should not have been – he hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night, seeing as he and Harry had been out in the snow until the dawn and he’d been simply too excited to close his eyes most of the morning, and as he and the boys packed up all their things, he was having trouble finding a lot of his stuff, to no one’s true surprise. 

“Niall, have you seen my…” he began, trailing slightly as he dug through an old duffel bag no one could remember the owner of, brow wrinkled and hair rumpled.

“Seen what?” Niall chirped from his bunk as he tucked a sweatshirt into one of his suitcases. 

“Uh…my…blue top, my swim trunks, my Man U hat, my pink and purple socks, and those sweatpants with the stripes going down the seams; have you seen those?” And as he dug through the bag, he added, “Oh, and my Batman knickers.”

“Jesus Christ, Lou, everyone else is packed, shouldn’t you be able to find your things by now?” Niall asked, gaping at him from across the room, and Louis sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes in frustration.

“Yeah, I guess, I just… I dunno, I just hate packing,” he moaned, keeling over dramatically onto his mattress. 

“Blimey, you don’t say,” Niall chortled, and Louis sent him a rather horrible look from behind his fingers. “Ouch,” Niall chuckled with a wince, and Louis pouted. “Lou, if you’re in such a bad mood, why don’t you take a break? You’ll feel better afterwards, and it’ll be easier to pack.”

“Okay,” Louis sighed. “Thanks, Ni. Hey, do you by chance know where—”

“He’s in the kitchen,” Niall said through a mouthful of crisps Louis hadn’t noticed before.

“Ta-ta,” Louis grumbled, chucking a lonely sneaker to the floor and stomping out of the room, ready for some fruit snacks and a healthy vent to his boyfriend about the idiocy of packing. He just hoped Harry wasn’t in an obnoxiously cheery mood like Niall was, or he might just—

Louis groaned as he entered the kitchen to see him skipping about the stove, whistling like a Disney character as he mopped up a puddle of split apple juice, and Louis realised that it was going to be a long morning.

“Why so glum, Boo?” Harry chirped, and Louis grimaced, wishing people would stop being so happy, and of course, Harry’s grin only widened. “It’s a lovely day, and we’ve got a contract to sign! Turn that frown upside-down!”

“Shut it,” Louis grumbled, shuffling humiliatingly to Harry’s side to press a needy kiss to his mouth, and damn it, he could feel Harry’s smile as he hugged him to his chest. “I can’t find anything, and I just need someone to whine with and cuddle…”

“I’ll have a good cuddle any day!” Harry sang, and fuck, he wasn’t stopping. Louis grumped quietly to himself as Harry wriggled into a pair of red galoshes, “But I think the sun will do you some good, Lou. Let’s have a walk, shall we? Then our hands can cuddle.” And oh God, that was such a very Harry thing to say that Louis audibly groaned as Harry snatched his hand up into his own and tugged him towards the back door. 

Before Louis knew it, Harry was beaming as he tugged Louis through one of Harry’s old hoodies, and why must it have been so warm and nice, because Louis was really wanting reasons to be angry at Harry, and he wasn’t finding any. Why did he have to love such a flawless boy? 

“See?” Harry asked as they stepped into the hot sun beating down onto the snow, “It’s beautiful! Clear skies all around.”

“Beautiful, schmewtiful,” Louis griped, and Harry only smiled, which made Louis considerably grouchier. 

“C’mon, Lou, it’s so nice! Cheer up.”

“I will not,” Louis growled, and Harry giggled, damn him. Louis swore, if he started to sing—

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Harry trilled happily, that kitten smile on his lips as he spun stupidly over the ice. His scarf swung around his shoulders, batting the runaway curls managing to peek out towards Lou from beneath Harry’s hood. “You make me happy,” he continued, grinning as he screeched the long note, “when skies are gray…”

“It’s bright out, you idiot,” Louis grumbled, gesturing towards the warm light glittering in the snow and towards the blue sky overhead. 

“Oh, is the sun shining today? I hadn’t noticed, what with you standing beside me.” Harry beamed brightly, and God, if Louis had the heart to pull his freezing hands from his pockets he would have clocked him rather severely on the jaw; his boy was so excruciatingly and infuriatingly cheesy he felt he might drown in his own blush. 

“Fuck off,” he managed half-heartedly, and Harry only giggled – that jingly, stupid little hiccup that sounded like it belonged to a four-year-old, and wow, Louis really hated him. “If you’re going to do anything with that obnoxious mouth, why don’t you kiss me?”

“If it’s so obnoxious, why don’t you kiss it yourself?” Harry teased, smug that he’d gotten beneath Louis’s skin – and they both knew it. 

“I should slap that mouth,” Louis grumbled. “Come ‘ere.” He finally tugged his mittened hands from his pockets and wrapped that stupid red scarf around his fingers, tugging Harry towards him and meeting his lips with a tired sigh. He almost conked his forehead when he felt Harry begin to giggle into the kiss, because what goes through this kid’s head?

“What’s so funny?” Louis growled, really not in the mood, and Harry bit his lip, laughing as he let his nose tickle Louis’s. 

“You’re adorable when you’re angry.”

Louis gasped, truly outraged by this; and if anyone asked, no, he was most definitely not pink around the ears, and no, his heart was certainly not feeling rather fluttery in his chest, and any bystander who seemed to think otherwise was utterly and completely incorrect, truly. “Take it back,” he snarled, his eyes deadly as he glared as the gangly giraffe of a boy teetering in front of him, but dear God, that reluctant smile hiding somewhere behind his mouth was already beginning to betray him.

“You’ll never know, deeeaaar,” Harry began to chorus again, tipping his head back and stuffing his hands into his pockets to skitter around Louis once more, “how much I love you…”

“Harry Styles,” Louis huffed, tucking his chin into his chest and hiding discretely behind his collar – he most certainly wasn’t hiding a smile from Harry, or anything like that – and he folded his arms across his chest with a snit. He wasn’t sure how a boy who couldn’t understand the difference between cantaloupe and honeydew was somehow managing to figure out that a grin was working its way across Louis’s cheeks, but he was. He laughed and beamed as he ducked to tip a finger beneath Louis’s chin and tip his face upwards for a quick kiss.

“C’mon, Boo, you know the rest,” he sang, teasing, and Louis rolled his eyes, his mouth now aching with the effort it took not to smile. “Please? Please-please-please-please-please?”

Louis mumbled incoherently under his breath.

“What was that?” Harry chorused gleefully, eyelashes batting as he cupped a hand around his ear and tipped towards Louis. “Couldn’t quite hear you, love.”

“Please don’t take my sunshine away,” Louis groaned, tossing his hands in the air and glaring up at Harry. “Happy?”

“Yes,” Harry drawled, and God, did he look it as he whizzed away across the pond, skates kicking up trails of damp ice behind him. “C’mon, Lou, it’s brilliant!” he called, feet scrambling beneath him as he attempted to skate in place. Louis huffed, his lower lip aching with the severity of his pout, and turned pointedly away from Harry should his rock-solid composure break. He was too bloody adorable, it was unacceptable, Louis thought as Harry’s eyes widened and his feet spun. 

Before Louis knew it, his grumpy shield had all but vaporized as Harry’s too-long legs suddenly flew out from beneath him and he landed with a solid thwack on his bum, mouth round with surprise and face pale, and suddenly Louis was gone, because the sight of Harry looking so shocked and so innocent on the ice like that had dissolved any chance of composure. He doubled over in hearty giggles, and though Harry was rubbing his neck with whiplash, he grinned, delighted he’d brought a smile back to Lou’s face. 

“Does this mean you’re not angry anymore?” he peeped hopefully as he clambered to his feet with a wince and teetered to Louis’s side. Louis, cheeks sore with his smile, could do nothing but shake his head and giggle as Harry pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth, eyes softer than perhaps Louis had ever seen them.

“Come on, then,” Harry said, grabbing Louis’s little hand and tugging him back towards the house. “I’ll help you find your things, and if we don’t, I’ll buy you new ones.” Louis smiled. “Besides,” Harry said with a sudden grin, “Most of your clothes are horrid anyway.” And oh boy, he was in for it now. 

Harry was still clutching his ribs, tender from Louis’s abusive tickling, by the time they walked into Simon’s office an hour and half later.

 

❡❡❡

 

Immediately, the aura in the room seemed to change. Each boy straightened and stiffened with alertness as they entered to see ten different people crowding the small space – seven men and two woman, five of them vaguely familiar, all dressed formally and carrying rucksacks or briefcases, and of course, Simon, sitting at his desk. 

“Morning, boys,” Simon said politely, nodding to Savan as he followed the band into the room. “Take a seat,” he added, gesturing towards six spare chairs sat in front of him. The boys obeyed, shuffling in, nervous grins lighting each face. 

“I pray you recognize a few of these faces,” Simon said, nodding towards the group of people seated along the wall. “Your families’ lawyers. They’re here to deal with your contracts, should you chose to sign them.” As if that was a question… “On the other hand, I’d like you to meet Richard Griffiths, co-founder of ‘Modest! Management,’ William Bloomfield, an artist manager for the company, and Marco Gastel, head of public relations at Modest.” He nodded towards three of the others occupying the room. “This,” he continued, gesturing towards the last man, “Is David Gray, the senior vice president of Syco Records, my music label and the one you will be signed to, should you enter into the deal.”

“Nice to meet you,” each boy stuttered breathily as they shook the hands of some of the biggest businesses faces in the music industry. 

“Should you chose to sign the contract, you will work beneath each of these men, as well as along side several other employees of Modest.” Simon explained. “Will?” He added, turning towards the brunette man in glasses, who opened his briefcase and withdrew a thick manila envelope, handing it to Simon. Harry blinked, eyes wide, knowing their futures lay in that stack of papers. Simon tugged five thick sheaths from the envelope and set them neatly before each boy. 

“Boys,” Simon said seriously, “These are the contracts that have been written for you by Modest, compiled by these three gentleman and a number of financial advisers and management agents. They are, to be put bluntly, rough drafts. Should you or your lawyer find anything of legal issue within these contracts, they will, of course, be revised – within Modest’s window of reason and possibility. I cannot stress enough,” he continued, brow wrinkling, “How crucial it is that either you or your lawyer comb these carefully. Should you chose to sign, you are binding yourselves to the terms of these contracts for at least two years – no less; not even if you get cold feet a few months in. They are unbreakable once signed, and I highly suggest you spend a long time contemplating your decisions.”

Of course, the five boys were thinking the complete opposite – how on earth could they ever turn down a possibility like this? Neither had any doubt in his head that they would be leaving the office without a signature on the bottom line of each contract. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. They would never have this chance again; of course they were signing. 

“I recommend you have your lawyers read them first,” Simon continued, sliding the sheaths together before distributing them to the attorneys sitting beside the desk, “And then have them explain to you the terms of the contract.” 

The two women and three men set about to scanning their copies, scribbling little notes in the margins occasionally and adjusting their spectacles on their noses. Zayn’s was the first to rise, and with a look to Simon – who nodded, telling him that the office three doors down was empty – the two of them exited the room. Niall’s followed, grinning and clapping Niall on the back before ushering his client after Zayn. Louis, fidgeting with excitement, rose to his feet when his own lawyer tapped him on the shoulder with a smile and beckoned him down the hall and to an empty conference room near Savan’s office. 

“Why was everyone leaving?” Louis asked curiously as he let cold water trickle from a cooler and into a paper cone before taking a seat across from his lawyer. 

“A small office like that, no one would be able to hold more than one conversation at a time,” she laughed. “You remember me, don’t you? I worked on the case of your parents’ divorce.”

“Julia,” Louis guessed, and she nodded, smiling. 

“It’s nice to see you again, Louis. First off, I want to congratulate you; this is… Wow. Quite an achievement.” Louis blushed sheepishly, smiling, and Julia continued. “In any case, shall we go over your contract?” Louis belly flitted with nerves.

“What we’re looking at,” Julia began, her voice suddenly sinking into a sterner, more serious measure, “Is a two-year contract, which – if you chose not to renew – would end exactly twelve months from its date of validation, on the third of January in 2013. You would be managed under Modest, of course, and work directly beneath William Bloomfield, the man you just met in Mister Cowell’s office. I’m going to give you the relevant terms of the contract, all right?”

“Okay,” Louis said nervously, shifting in his seat.

“You will produce exclusively for Modest and its coexisting label Syco Records while your contract is in effect. Any work, whether profitable or charitable, with any other existing label between now and at least five years from the date of any album produced will be deemed a breach of contract. That means, don’t do it,” she added to Louis with a smile, and Louis laughed, blinking rather quickly as the conditions were thrown at him. “Should you chose to sign the contract, you automatically give Modest and Syco the rights and abilities to extend this contract to you for optional renewal, containing the same conditions and terms. Should you decide to renew the contract,” she explained, “You would almost definitely receive a contract identical to this one. The only exceptions include serious incidents occurring in the band that absolutely require an alteration of contract.” Louis nodded, trying to keep up.

“You are required to undergo media training prior to any publicity opportunities. This includes four individual two-hour sessions – two on your own and two with the remainder of your bandmates. You are also required to submit all and any media or information – whether it be lyrics included in your songs, any statements to the press, even Tweets and FaceBook status updates – to your PR representative prior to doing so. Companies like Modest like to moderate their clients’ public esteems very carefully in order to ensure their successes as artists.” She explained. Louis supposed that was understandable; handing over his social networking passwords wasn’t a big deal – he’d just need to delete some things first, perhaps, he thought cheeks pink and lips curled at the thought of one of the portly businessmen in Simon’s office finding a photo of him drunk in year nine. “In the case of PR, you may be asked to conduct oneself in a certain manner while in the public eye in order to improve artistic success. You will be engaged to provide various services within the furtherance of your career in the music industry.

“You will be expected within reason to prioritize your career. Travel will be a common element of your work with the label, and it will be assumed that you comply with the wishes of Modest and Syco regarding beneficial business opportunities. Exceptions may be made in the case of special circumstances, including illness, injury, family crises, the illness or injury of a loved one, divorce, maternity leave, work-approved vacation, funeral leave, and any other outstanding situations.” Julia explained.

“This contract is absolutely unbreakable until the date of its expiration,” she continued, eyeing Louis anxiously, making sure he was following. “On the upside, if the band undergoes a sudden drop in success – say, if few albums or tracks were being produced and little profits were being made – Modest and Syco would not legally be able to drop the name. They’d be stuck with you,” she chuckles, and Louis smiled, praying to God that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. “On the down side, if you get half-way through the term of your contract and decide you want out, there’s nothing you can do. You would have to abide by their conditions until the fourth of January.” Leaning forward, she continued. “That means two years of doing something you may not like. This is a serious commitment, Louis. Do you understand?”

Louis swallowed.

“Shall I get to the fun part?” Julia asked gently, a small smile crawling onto her lips, and Louis sat up curiously. “Let’s talk about recording,” Julia continued, and Louis grinned, beginning to feel excited once more. “You and the band will be required to produce a minimum of one album over the course of this contract period, with no less than ten tracks – all of which must be new and previously unreleased to the public – and no more than eighteen, not including any ‘bonus tracks.’ You will record only at company-approved studios and only at times mutually agreed upon, and you will be obligated to record any track multiple times until Syco deems it satisfactory for public release.

“You will automatically receive a paycheck of eight hundred fifty pounds on the twenty-seventh of each month, and each band member will receive a royalty payment of three per track sold.” Louis deflated slightly. It didn’t sound like he’d be strutting in designer shoes anytime soon. “I know it doesn’t sound like much,” Julia laughed at the look on Louis’s face, “But think about it. Simon Cowell sold one and a half million copies of the band’s show single last week. If you’d been in contract with him, each of you would have made—”

“Over forty-five thousand pounds,” Louis breathed, jaw dropping. “From one song?” he asked, staggered as he looked up at Julia, who nodded with a smile. 

“Just think of albums,” she said, and Louis’s eyes widened. Okay, maybe that wasn’t so little. “You’ll also be paid to attend events, such as award shows, premieres, rich children’s birthday parties," she joked, "And you'll receive massive compensation for PR events like interviews and photoshoots. Those kinds of things are a very big part of the job."

Louis nodded, this was all...somewhat making sense to him. There was just so much to learn, so much to think about...

"All in all, you really don't have to worry about anything, should you sign this," Julia explained. "If you enter into the contract, it will be very simple from hereon out. You'll start working on January third as I say, and all you have to do is sing songs, smile for the cameras, and say the right things. If you do what your management tells you to do, you have quite literally nothing else to be concerned with for the rest of your career. Other people will be doing things for you - financial advisers, realestate agents, person welfare agents... You'll be very well taken care of."

Louis gnawed on his lip, head spinning as he stared blankly down at the sheath of paper in his lawyer's hands.

"What... What do you recommend I do?" He finally asked anxiously, looking up at her. She frowned, considering.

"Well, it's a very big risk to take, a very big commitment - there's absolutely no doubt about that. If things don't go well for you, you'll be stuck in this situation, bound to this company for a solid two years. It won't be a party, I can promise you that, and I'm not sure how well you and the others would handle the unimaginable amount of stress placed on your shoulders - especially the sixteen-year-old. You'll be travelling at all hours of the night, working hard and late, under incredible pressure to behave certain ways in public... This is a not a decision to be entered into lightly, Louis," she said gently, and Louis swallowed.

"On the other hand," Julia continued, "If you're set on making a career for yourself as an artist, this is probably the best shot you'll ever have. I can promise you that, from the way things are looking now, neither you nor your family would ever have to worry about money or financial problems for the rest of your foreseeable lives."

Louis's heart jumped; wallets had always been tight in his family, his mother aging prematurely with the stress and anxiety of raising five children, and he'd do anything to help her out, after all she'd done for him.

"You would become a national superstar, at the very least, and vocal production would be your singular job and source of income. You would be living a life that millions have only ever dreamed of."

Louis took a deep, shaky breath, head pounding as he blinked rapidly. This was just... It was so... 

"Julia?" He asked, voice wavering. "Do you... Do you think it would be worth it?"

Julia's eyes softened fondly as she looked down at the shaky boy, barely of age, and crossed her arms.

"It's not my decision to make, Louis," she said apologetically. "You've just got to do what you think would be best for yourself."

Louis nodded, his lip now bleeding lightly beneath the grip of his teeth, and he inhaled, exhaled, closed his eyes. Reached for the pen sitting on the table beside them.

 

❡❡❡

 

"We'll be sending you emails giving you more specific instructions, but for now I simply forewarn you to plan to attend a meeting at the Matrix Complex of London in twenty-one days' time on January the third. If there are any problems in getting there, I ask that you call my business number or send me an email, is that clear?" Simon asked ten minutes later as he and the boys sat back in the office, the others having left to administer to the five freshly signed contracts.

"Are we busy before then?" Niall asked anxiously, fingers in knots. He hadn't seen his family in months; he didn't want to have to remain in England for another.

"No," Simon smiled, "You'll be free to return home and do as you like until January. However," he said, voice deepening slightly, "I remind you that you will very soon be under the constant speculation of the public eye. While your contract is not yet in effect, I would recommend you keep from doing anything rash. You don't want to start off your careers on the wrong foot."

Each boy nodded seriously, suddenly feeling a lot more nervous than they had a couple of minutes ago. 

"Otherwise, please, relax, have fun. You've worked inexplicably hard this season, boys, and it would be an understatement to say you deserve a break. I'll say it again; I'm very proud."

"Thanks, Simey!" Louis chirped, and Simon only barely managed to hide his grimace. 

"Well, that's all I have for you until the third. Your ride is out front. Remember," he added. "The house will be cleaned at eight this evening, please have your things packed and out by then." He looked very directly at Louis, who grinned. 

"Thanks, Simon, see you next month!" Each boy chorused, stooping to give their mentor a tight hug and a clap on the back. Louis followed suit, and was about to head out of the door after Niall when he heard Simon call his name once more.

“Louis? A word?”

Louis turned, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise as he caught Simon’s eye, and, hesitating for a brief moment, he nodded before lowering himself into one of the chairs before his desk. 

As the other four lads filed out of his office, something gently brushed the crown of his head, and he shifted his vision a fraction of an inch to see Harry’s fingers graze his earlobe, his touch as gentle as a feather’s. 

A small smile dawned on the Doncaster boy’s lips, and he sub-consciously raised his own hand to let his fingers clasp Harry's, just for a moment, before Harry parted. 

He had done so unknowingly; out of habit, and he quickly stuffed his hand into his lap as he noticed Simon’s sharp, blue eyes focused on the touch of their fingers, glinting slightly with wit. 

Once each of the lads had shuffled out the door and let it close with a gentle whoosh, Simon leaned back in his wide leather office chair and stared scrutinizingly at Louis, his gaze piercing and knowing. Louis swallowed nervously. 

The majority of the time, Simon was a charismatic, laid-back bloke, quite easy to get along with and to share a laugh. Other times, however, a chat with Simon distinctly resembled once of Louis’s frequent trips to the head master’s office. 

Now was one of those times. 

He smiled sheepishly as he waited for Simon to speak, and when he finally opened his mouth, he only confused Louis further. 

“So, you’re excited about that contract you and your mother just signed, no?” Simon asked politely, conversationally, and Louis quickly realised with dawning suspicion that he was making small talk. Simon was generally a very straight-forward, never-beat-around-the-bush sort of person, and when small talk came around…Well, something fishy was going on, to be put shortly. 

“Y-yeah,” Louis grinned, trying with great difficulty not to let his unease show through. “Yeah, it’s brilliant, that is.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” Simon said easily, scooping the boys’ signed contracts into his hands and thumbing casually through the thick sheath of papers. “I take it you read it carefully and that your lawyer walked you through the details?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Louis lied easily with a wave of his hand. 

All right, fine, maybe he had skimmed just a bit while examining the fine print, but honestly, what could have been in that contract that he would need to contemplate? The matter was simple—either he could sign the contract and live his dreams with his three best friends and Harry, or he could botch the thing and go back his normal life. If there was a small compromise in that contract, he was sure it would be worth living the life he’d been imagining for so, so long…

“Fantastic,” Simon said pointedly, and Louis had a sneaking suspicion that Simon knew he had not read the thing thoroughly. “Then you’ll have read section XVII regarding…” he mumbled to himself, flipping quickly through the stack of papers as he searched for the correct page. 

“Aha. Relationships and social interactions within or outside said band.” Simon read. Louis’s nose wrinkled slightly in confusion, his lips pursing unattractively in a way that always had Harry in stitches…

“Uh…Yeah. Yeah, I read that. I read that good.” He grinned nervously, and he frowned, baffled as Simon began to chuckle. 

“Lou, I know you didn’t read it. It’s all right.” Louis smirked sheepishly, the muscles in his shoulders finally beginning to relax as the tension in the office suddenly decreased. 

“Oh, I thought I really had you convinced for second there,” he joked, pretending to heave a huge sigh, and Simon laughed. 

“Sorry, Louis, I can spot a lie like Zayn can spot a cowlick. In any case…” he continued, and he shuffled the small section of papers regarding “Relationships and Social Interactions Between Said Band.”

“Louis,” Simon said quietly. “I need to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly, all right?” Louis nodded, swallowing. “Are you in any sort of coital relationship with Harry?”

A moment later, Simon had sprung out of his seat and dashed around the desk to smack Louis roughly on the back, for at Simon’s words, Louis had begun coughing violently. 

“Lord, are you all right?” Simon asked, eyes wide with alarm as he slowly retreated back into his seat, watching the gasping Louis with trepidation. 

“F-Fine,” Louis coughed, lurching spasmodically for a bottle of water sitting atop the mahogany and quickly taking a few large gulps. “Whew,” he said, hoping that maybe, just maybe, his unexpected coughing fit might have distracted Simon from the particular question at hand. No such luck, however…

“I take it you were surprised by my question.” Simon stated, his eyebrows rising suspiciously as he gazed into Louis’s alarmed face. 

“W-well…I…” Louis stuttered. How on Earth was he supposed to answer that? He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say here. He needed to think…

“It’s a simple matter, Louis. Are you or are you not sharing any intimacy at all with Harry?” Simon asked blankly. 

Turning bright red and gnawing anxiously on his lower lip, Louis eyed Simon with apprehension, considering the situation at hand. 

Simon was not a homophobe. Louis knew that, if he did admit to having a relationship with Harry, he would not judge him or think badly of him, because he was one of the few people in this world who actually understood that love is love, regardless of whom it existed between. 

On the other hand, the fact that he was bringing up the matter at all was…well, questionable, to be put mildly. What on Earth was he supposed to do? He could not lie to Simon; he had just made it clear that he could scope out dishonesty like a metal detector could track down coins. 

Why would he need to lie, in any case? There was nothing wrong with being a relationship with the person you loved. But why, then, was Simon asking? What did his romantic life matter to him? Something was very odd here…

“Dishonesty won’t get you anywhere,” Simon warned him gently, offering him an indifferent shrug, and Louis nodded dejectedly, sighing through his nose. “So?” Simon pressed. “Are you and Harry together?” 

After a very long, tense moment, filled with nothing but the sound of Louis’s anxious breaths, he opened his lips and whispered, “Yes.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for something from Simon—a scoff, a reprimand, a shouting match—anything, really, but when he finally glanced guiltily up at his former mentor, all he saw was Simon leaning boredly back in his office chair, crossing his arms and looked quite unalarmed. 

“W-well?” Louis quaked, waiting for a response, and Simon simply chuckled. 

“If you’re expecting a gasp or a shout of surprise, it’s not coming, Lou. I knew you two had something going on.”

“How?” Louis asked, astonished. He and Harry had thought they were being so very clever and sneaky…

“When you’ve got my job, you learn to pick up on things like that,” Simon said boredly, waving his hand. “In any case, you didn’t exactly bother to be subtle about it,” he added in a chuckle, and Louis blushed, swallowing. “What we need to discuss is how your relationship plays into this contract.” Simon continued.

“It…It plays into the contract?” Louis asked nervously, looking taken aback. 

“Yes,” Simon sighed, eyes roaming warily over the particular sheet of paper in his hand. “Significantly so. Louis, would you mind reading the highlighted bit of this section?” Louis blinked slowly, his lips parted in uncertainty as he reached forward and took the paper form Simon’s hands, shooting him a confused glance before beginning to read aloud to Simon.

“With due consideration to said band’s public reputation and reception, which directly impacts the prestige of annual finances and revenue of said band,” Louis began reading, his eyebrows still furrowed in confusion. “Modest! Management hereby prohibits the members of said band from specific public and personal interactions, including unlawful relationships regarding age differences and/or legal societal classifications; relationships or interactions considered to be abusive, offensive, or unlawful to the public reception in any way, form, or method; relationships or suggestive interactions involving significant variations in age, regardless of legal/lawful status; and coital relationships or suggestive interactions between…between two or more members of…of said band.” He finished, his voice beginning to stutter as he completed the clause, the impact of the last few words slowly starting to dawn on him. He glanced anxiously up at Simon, his lip now bleeding beneath his teeth as he gnawed continuously on the pink skin. 

“So…” He trembled, praying to God that he was mistaken in his interpretation of the clause. “So, this clause is saying…”

“That a relationship between you and Harry would be illegal on multiple levels.” Simon finished quietly.

“But…” Louis quaked, his eyebrows forming a sulky, sorrowful angle as he stared desolately down at the fine print. “But…Harry and I…” 

“I know,” Simon sighed, shooting the paper in Louis’s hands a nasty glare. “Believe me, I’m not exactly thrilled with the idea. I think if you and Harry want to be in a relationship, then you should feel free to do so without having to worry about a lawsuit. But you need to consider this from Modest! Management’s view, Louis.” Simon explained gently, leaning forward, a business-like tone creeping into his voice. 

“Most management corporations do include inter-band relationship prohibitions in their contracts. Do you have any idea the kind of chaos that has been created when two or more members of the same group begin brewing drama? Things don’t end well. Multiple bands have split because of these kinds of things. Do you want One Direction to separate?” Simon asked quietly, eyebrows high.

“But…” Louis continued to stutter. “But Harry…”

“Listen, Louis, I know you may not like it, and you may think that you and Harry won’t create any drama or complications within the band, but even you didn’t, a relationship between the two of you would still be unlawful. He’s sixteen, Louis, still a lad, and you…Well, you’re turning nineteen in twelve days’ time.” 

“What will happen when Harry turns eighteen, then?” Louis pleaded desperately, his anxiety beginning to get the better of him. “What about then? Could we be together?” 

“Louis,” Simon said quietly, eyes downcast. “You need to think rationally here. You know how the public receives the LGBT community. Hell, seventy-two percent of the population is homophobic. It’s not something that would work out, and it’s definitely not something Modest would ever allow.” 

Louis had frozen, his mouth gaping as he gazed openly up at the man before him. He couldn’t be with Harry? He was never allowed to kiss him, or hold him, or tell him how special he was ever again? He wasn’t allowed to call him his, to be Harry’s in return, to... to…

“But I love him,” he said pathetically, eyes wide.

“I understand,” Simon said quietly. “But that’s just the way things are. You signed the contract, Louis. You need to find a way to break it off with Harry, or you could have some very scary legal problems on your hands. The same goes for Harry as well. You would both be sued for violating your contracts, and I can promise you that you would not win in a lawsuit. Both you and Harry would lose quite literally hundreds of thousands of dollars at the very least. You wouldn’t want to cause financial problems for him and his family, would you?” 

Break it off with Harry. 

Break it off with Harry. 

He had to break it off with the most perfect lad on the planet, the one that meant more to him than anything…Or the two of them would be dropped from One Direction. 

“Wha…” Louis began, heart beating very quickly now as his face heated. “Why… Why didn’t anyone… My lawyer…Why didn’t he say—”

“In all honesty, I don’t think she thought that clause of the contract was relevant to you,” Simon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Most lawyers don’t, unless their clients formally disclose their sexuality or relationship with them. I’m sorry, Louis.”

“Why didn’t… You – you said you knew,” Louis whimpered, face now in his hands. Simon was quiet for a long moment.

“As an external party, one not associated with your lawyer or with any part of the contract, I am not permitted to read it prior to its signing. The only people on the planet who had the rights to read those contracts before you and the boys entered into them were members of Modest, seeing as they are directly affected by the contract and have inherited your ownership, your lawyers, and of course, you. Any outlying members are prohibited from reading the contracts’ contents should they contributing any…influential factors. I swear to you, Louis,” Simon said, leaning forward across the desk. “Had I had the opportunity to read it, I would have disclosed to both you and Harry its terms of intimacy. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t… I can’t… I signed,” Louis whispered, eyes wide and mouth round as he fisted his hair in his fingers, and Simon crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.

“You did. As of today you, Zayn, Niall, Liam, and Harry are legally bound to the terms of this contract until two years from this date. Until then, you may have no amorous relationships with any of the above.”

Louis’s chest felt as if it was crumbling beneath his heart.

“It’s your relationship,” Simon said gently, an air of finality beginning to make itself audible, “Or it’s your career.

“You have until the third of January.”

 

❡❡❡

 

When Louis opened the door of the X House, he figured life was out to relentlessly fuck him over.

First off, Harry’s bright red rain boots were sitting in the entrance hall, mismatched and garishly horrid purple-and-orange socks hanging over the rims, and his pink sweetheart blanket was folded into a neat, careful square and placed delicately atop his packed suitcase. Second of all, he’d folded Louis’s too, sliding it inside the outside pocket of Louis’s duffel. Thirdly, he could hear Harry singing truly awful 90’s records at the top of his lungs from the kitchen, his voice immaculately flawless, of course, and lovely enough to make even Cher’s Believe sound somewhat decent. Fourth, he entered the kitchen to see Harry sliding half a dozen of Louis’s favourite fajitas onto a plate the colour of his eyes, and damn it to hell, he was wearing Lou’s favourite sweat-shirt – something that barely fit him. The hood had caught round his neck, clearly to his not knowing, and his curls were an awful mess. 

So, either fate was having a jolly time taunting the bloody hell out of him with every thing wonderful about his Harry, or it was telling him that he probably shouldn’t have dared to bother with him in the first place.

Eyes suddenly feeling quite hot, he swallowed and strode to Harry’s side as quickly as he could, not quite caring when he knocked a silicone spatula to the tile.

“Boo!” Harry admonished, childish eyes wide and bow lips parted, and fuck fuck fuck, Louis was royally screwed. Ignoring him, he cupped his cheeks and pressed a long, soft kiss to Harry’s mouth, frantically attentive and trying to memorize every detail, every groove and every curve and every next lovely thing about his lips, his face, his boy…

“What was that for?” Harry laughed as Louis reluctantly let their mouths part, his arms locked around Harry’s waist. 

“Dunno,” Louis lied, smiling dryly. “Just... I wanted to kiss you.” 

“Okay,” Harry grinned shyly, pressing a second quick peck to Louis’s lips and wriggling out of his arms to pick up the spatula. “But next time, I’d like a bit of warning, so we don’t risk E. Coli contamination.” And God, he was just… How am I going to do this?

He wouldn’t think about it, he decided as Harry playfully spattered hot sauce all down his front before promptly licking the red substance off of his cheek, wrinkling his nose and declaring that Louis needed a shave. 

No, Louis thought, eyes soft and throat uncomfortably tight as he quietly watched Harry slide the fajitas onto the contestants’ plates, Give it time.

 

❡❡❡

 

Three days had passed since the signing of the contract, and Harry was positively off his rocker. 

Apart from the obvious – the obvious being his spending more than twenty-four hours without Louis’s company – this was the longest he’d ever been without any of the lads, and despite any frustration he might have felt living in such close quarters with the band over the course of the show, he was finding himself direly missing them like a lonely wife whose spouse was on a very lengthy business trip.

He missed Niall blowing raspberries on his cheek, and his wild bedhead, shards of blonde and ashy brown sticking up all over his head. He missed watching Zayn dance and goof around in the kitchen, taste-testing his food and affectionately twirling his curls. He missed Liam’s warm eyes and puppy-dog face, missed hearing him make absolutely horrid and innocent jokes that he might have heard in a movie from the sixties. And, of course, he missed his Lou. 

“Jesus, baby, I thought you’d be happy to be back with the family,” Anne mused as she watched Harry grumpily toss collared greens into a salad spinner, lips putting severely and brow scrunched.

It was true; while Harry hated this house, this town to no end – cringing at the sight of the eggshell walls, stomach turning unpleasantly with the dead, crunchy grass hiding beneath the snow – he was pleased to see his sister again, and especially his mum. Since coming out, he and the girls of the family seemed to have come closer, knowing they shared a secret, a new sort of understanding. 

Of course, Harry was happy to see his stepdad again. He loved Robin like his own father, and it would be an understatement to say that Robin was proud of his stepson’s legacy on the X Factor – Harry was the subject of the vast majority of his “proud parent” speeches to his friends and colleagues, and a massive poster of the band – shyly autographed by Harry at Robin’s request – hung pridefully in his office. The only source of Harry’s unease was the sharp, biting anxiety he felt whenever he thought about Robin finding out the truth of his sexuality – and, more importantly, of his relationship with Louis.

No one quite knew, yet. By the looks Anne and Gemma got whenever Harry so much as mentioned Louis’s name, he was sure they knew that something was up, but he hadn’t quite gotten around to telling them the full story. He wasn’t sure why he was keeping it so close to heart; half the time he wanted nothing more than to brag to the entire world about his lovely boyfriend (the word still made him shiver) but keeping it silent gave him some sort of clandestine pleasure, knowing that he had a very special, very lovely secret. In all honesty, he was also quite excited to see the reactions of his mum and sister when he finally introduced Louis to them as his; he wasn’t going to waste such a moment. He would savour it, save it for the right time.

The problem with being happy with all of this was, he missed his lads. He hadn’t heard an impression from Zayn for days, hadn’t kissed a sleepy Niall on the forehead in even longer, hadn’t gotten a fond telling-off from Liam, accompanied with a sweet squeeze of his shoulder, and he hadn’t seen his love’s eyes, his lips, his smile for seventy-nine hours. 

Yeah, he wasn’t okay.

“I am,” he said earnestly, struggling to force his face into something respectable. “I just… I miss the boys.”

“I understand, love,” Anne said, smiling as she took grabbed a bottle of vinaigrette from the refrigerator and began to pour it copiously over the greens, only stopping when Harry grabbed her arm and winced, not daring to look at his now-ruined handiwork. “After living with them so long, it must be difficult to be away from them.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, his face slowly dropping back into its habitual skulk. “I mean… I know I’ll see them after the new year, but… I dunno. I’ve never gone without them for more than a day.”

“I know,” Anne tutted, pulling her son into her arms for a tight, motherly hug, ignoring him when he squirmed a protested. “But for now, you’re my baby boy, going on seventeen, and I’m your insecure mother, so you’ll love me while you’re here.” Harry smiled, despite himself, pressing a firm kiss to his mother’s cheek and ducking out of her arms to try and salvage the vinaigrette-drenched salad. 

“I’ll love you as long as, come Christmas time, you give me as many pres—” Harry cut himself off, laughing, as he dodged his Mother’s stern slap on the cheek, and snickered when the telephone rang loudly from the counter.

“Saved by the bell,” Anne muttered dangerously, and Harry giggled, grinning to himself as he strained the dressing from the spinner. “This is Anne,” Anna said wearily as she picked up the phone, and then, “Oh! Right… It’s very nice to meet you!” Harry, unconcerned, hummed quietly as he stirred the greens, dumping a cup and half of shredded carrots into the bowl and smiling as they swirled with the leaves. How little it took to entertain him…

“Oh, really?” Anne said, eyebrows arching high on her head as she turned to send Harry a look, and Harry worried he was in trouble until he saw the tight smile hiding behind his mother’s mouth, and he smirked, turning back towards the counter. “Yes, I’ve noticed as well. Yes, I suppose… No, no, that would be fine. It’d be lovely to meet you, and to meet the little girls. I’ve heard quiet a bit about them,” Anne chuckled, and Harry looked up once more, frowning now. “Oh yes, of course, all good. I’ll see if…” she turned towards the calendar hanging on the wall, eyeing the little squiggles deciphering Robin’s work schedule. “No, that should be fine. Should we expect you before supper? All right.” She was quiet. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I look forward to seeing everyone. Yes, goodbye, Joanna!”

The spoon Harry had been holding fell to the basin with a clatter.

 

❡❡❡

 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Louis breathed, half relieved and half wretched as he let himself fall forward into his baby’s arms. Oh… Oh, he’d missed this. He knew it had only been four days, but… Oh, Harry.

“I missed you,” Harry whispered, eyes closed, and Louis buried his chin into the crook of his shoulder, so warm, smelling like pine and the scent of his fabric softener, so lovely…

“God, you don’t even know,” Louis laughed quietly, ignoring his mum as she passed with a smile so fond it was almost sickening. 

“He’s been driving the entire lot of us mad, he has,” she laughed, half cross and half adoring, “This is the calmest he’s been since he left London.”

“Me too, I assure you,” Harry laughed shakily, face warm as he gently tugged himself from Louis’s arms and stepped towards Jay, eager to accept a motherly hug. “How’ve you been, Jay?”

“Not too bad,” Jay said tiredly, smiling as she ran a hand through her hair and pecked Harry on the cheek. “Everyone’s massively proud, of course,” she added eagerly, eyes shining as she looked at Louis. “Can you believe it? You boys, popstars. Lottie’s madly jealous.”

“I’m sure,” Harry grinned, waving happily towards the eldest Tomlinson sister, who wiggled her fingers shyly and hid her blush behind her phone. 

“Never got over you, that one,” Louis said darkly, tugging Harry back into his arms, as if worried he’d stray if he didn’t keep him close. Harry smiled, barreling into Louis’s side like a kitten, and Louis’s heart may or may not have melted in his chest a bit. “Neither have I,” he added quietly, pressing a long kiss to Harry’s lips, the first one in days, and Harry sighed happily, feeling quite at home. 

“Oh, mum’s coming,” he said lowly, reluctantly tugging his face from Louis’s and stepping to the side. 

“She doesn’t know?” Louis asked, looking anxious. 

“Not yet,” Harry said, grinning wildly, and Louis rolled his eyes, smiling to the sky. “Mum!” He added eagerly as Anne stepped outside, shivering in her coat. “This,” he said proudly, with a bit more fanfare than was probably necessary, “is m—is Louis.” Just Louis, for now, he reminded himself. My Louis. 

“I have heard,” Anne began as she smiled anxiously up at Louis, stepping to his side, and Harry repressed a groan. “A ridiculous amount about you,” and while Louis blushed, Harry buried his face in his scarf, knowing his mother was cackling internally as she seized the opportunity to embarrass him in front of his “hip and cool friends.” 

“All lovely, I hope,” Louis grinned, offering Anne an introductory hug, and Anne’s eyes twinkled; Louis seemed to have that effect on…well, everyone. 

“Unfortunately so,” Anne chuckled, and Harry might have melted right there in his boots if Phoebe hadn’t charged to his side and latched onto his arm like a monkey, swinging wildly. 

“Harry!” 

“Bloody he—heavens,” Harry corrected himself as Anne sent him a sharp look, wincing as his shoulder ached and Phoebe managed to clamber onto his back. “Pheebs… You’re gonna break my back.”

“Nuh-uh,” Phoebe retorted loudly, and Jay hushed her, reminding her to use her quiet voice. “Your hair’s different,” Phoebe added, shamelessly grabbing a fistful of curls, and Harry flinched further, smiling tiredly towards his beaming mum. “Not as fluffy as last time.”

“That’s good,” Harry said wearily. “C’mon, hop down, love, or we’ll be stuck in the cold all night.” Phoebe scowled as she scar,bled to the ground but hurried to latch herself firmly to Harry’s hand, pulling a pink roll-a-way in the other. Daisy, looking shyly up at the house, followed closely behind while Fizzy shaped a snowball in her mittened hand, snickering as she tossed it lamely at the back of Louis’s head. It fell from his hat with a soft thunk, and he rolled his eyes before beckoning her to his side and taking her hand.

“Hey!” She admonished, frowning as she tore her hand from his, “I’m a grown-up, stupid.”

“Fizzy, we don’t use the S word,” Jay scolded her gently, and Fizzy pouted, skulking ahead to walk with Anne.

“Shall I get the girls settled for you, Joanna?” Anne asked timidly, grunting as she heaved Lottie’s bag into the house. 

“Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you,” Jay smiled. “And please, call me Jay.” Anne beamed, and Harry pursed his lips, sending a bright glance towards Louis as he helped Phoebe up the step. 

“Come on, then, lovelies, you can tell me which beds you’d like,” Anne smiled, beckoning the twins to her side, and Fizzy and Lottie followed her curiously, eyes roaming the walls of the house. 

“Harry, your mother is just lovely,” Jay said happily, “And your house… it’s quite charming! Thank you for letting us come for the holidays. Mark is out of town and our kitchen is being remodeled, and it just… We didn’t have much to work with. This is just… Oh, it’s wonderful.” 

“No problem, Jay,” Harry grinned. “I’m glad you could come,” he added earnestly. “Was getting a bit dull round here.”

“I can’t possibly imagine. This one wouldn't shut up about you, was begging me for days to drive up here,” Jay laughed, nodding to her son, and as Harry grinned he felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned to see Louis pouting, directing Harry’s attention back to him as he trod on his feet with a whine. “For God’s sake, Louis,” Jay added, exasperated as she eyed her antsy son. “You’re here now, you can stop flitting about.” She turned back to Harry, sighing, “He’s been awfully clingy all the while. I’m sorry if he does the same to you.”

“Don’t worry for a moment,” Harry said sincerely, and Anne smiled, eyes soft, before hurrying down the hall to help Anne with the guestroom. 

“No shit.” Harry heard a familiar voice from behind him, and he turned to see Gemma lingering on the stairs, eyebrows high and jaw set as she looked down at Louis, hand clasped with Harry’s. “So this is the famous Louis?” 

“Yes,” Harry said, somewhat defensively, And be nice, he wanted to add. Louis smiled eagerly, sticking a friendly hand out as Gemma came slowly down the stairs. Gemma’s eyes narrowed sharply as she looked Louis up and down, as if considering before she eventually took his hand and shook it firmly. “Lou, this is my sister Gemma. She’s kind of a bitch some of the time, so.”

“Harry!” They both screeched, Gemma’s reprimand followed with a sharp thwack to the back of the head, and Harry grinned, rubbing his neck. 

“Kidding,” he snickered. “She’s all right, en’t you?”

“Yeah,” Gemma said, smiling, “Listen, I know I just bitch-slapped him on the back of the neck and robbed him of all dignity, but don’t let that convince you that I don’t look after my baby brother, and that I won’t castrate you to the bone if you ever hurt a hair on his curly hea—”

“Gem!” It was Harry’s turn to scold her now, scowling heavily as he wrapped an arm around Louis’s waist and ushered him into the living room, away from his deranged sister. She snorted, smiling as they left, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Don’t mind her,” he muttered. “She’s… tough. But she’s a good lass, I swear – what’s funny?” He asked curiously, for Louis was giggling up and down as he collapsed onto the cough, knees banging against the coffee table.

“She’s just like you,” he snickered, clutching his tummy, and Harry’s jaw dropped, truly outraged by this.

“Is not,” he declared, eyes narrowing, and as Louis peered up at him, he burst into hearty chuckles again. 

“She…” he struggled to speak through his mouthful of giggles, “She may act tougher and scare the dickens out of me, but God… Oh yes, I think I’m going to like her.” 

Harry was left feeling both indignant and bashful at the same time. He scrambled for speech for a couple moments before closing his mouth and grumbling as he grabbed Louis’s hand and tugged him towards the guestroom, hoping to avoid any more embarrassing family moments. 

“Mum, do I have to share with Fizz?” Lottie moaned as Jay dragged her through the guest bedroom, personally setting her bag on the hide-a-way sofa. 

“Love, you and Fizzy share a room at home, I don’t see what the issue is,” Jay sighed, sending embarrassed glances over her shoulder to Anne, who was smiling as she helped the little ones up onto the bed sitting against the wall.

“But this is a vacation! And I never have to sleep in the same bed with her,” Lottie grumbled, because God, her mum was so uncool. 

“You’re sharing with Fizzy, and that’s that,” Jay said sternly, and Lottie huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “You begged me to let you come, now you behave.” 

“How come Louis gets to share with Harry?” Lottie whined, voice lowering as her cheeks reddened. “It’s not fair.” Harry quickly turned away from the conversation, hurrying to begin unpacking the twins’ things and sliding them into the wardrobe. 

“Because they’re both lads, they’re both older, and because I said so,” Jay said smartly, and Lottie stomped out of the room, phone in hand. 

“Sorry about them,” Louis muttered, sending annoyed glances towards his mum and sisters as he tugged Harry from the room. Harry, on the other hand, could not have been happier.

“Don’t be,” he said, positively beaming, “ I love your family.”

“It’s yours too, if you like,” Louis smiled, and Harry just might have fallen in love all over again.

 

❡❡❡

 

“So I took one whiff from the bottle, and I said, ‘You bloody idiot, that’s not liquor, it’s saline!”

Harry had never seen his mum so happy as she tipped her head back, laughter pouring from her mouth and one hand on Jay’s as the two women collapsed into fits of giggles. 

“No!” she gasped, barely able to breath for laughs, and Jay nodded, tears leaking from her eyes. 

“I swear it! The bugger had gone and mixed saline into his energy drink instead of the rubbing alcohol! Fired, straight away, unfortunately, but God! What a right nutter, he was. Couldn’t go a day without a drink, either.” Jay shook her head. 

“I think they like each other,” Louis whispered happily to Harry, hands clasped on Louis’s thigh beneath the table, and Harry nodded, grinning. Anne hadn’t had a close friend since she’d worked in Winsford with Harry’s godmother, and it was nice to see her connect with someone again. He’d worried she’d been getting lonely without any companions to talk to or gossip with, and so far Jay seemed to be the perfect fit for her. Could things have been going any more perfectly?

“Truly? He wouldn’t come to the hospital drunk, would he?” Anne asked, eyes wide and smile bright.

“Oh, all the time! Couldn’t hold it at all, either; on a good day, his cheeks were a red as this lovely ham you’ve made, Anne!” Jay declared, gesturing towards the roast sitting in the middle of the table, half-devoured by the two families. Fizzy in particular seemed to have enjoyed her meal; bits of sweet corn littered her napkin and her smiling face was smeared with giblets. 

“Fizz, wipe your mouth,” Louis said sharply, sending a nervous glance down the table to Robin, who had arrived home an hour before dinner.

Harry didn’t know why Louis was so fidgety in his stepfather’s presence. If anyone in the house seemed to take to Louis like Anne had, it was Robin. He had seemed unsure, at first, when Louis had shuffled timidly to his side to introduce himself, wearing dog-shaped slippers and one of Lottie’s roomier sweatshirts, but a few awful jokes and a compliment on his tie later and he had been welcomed like family. 

“Harry, where’d you find this one? He’s a riot!” He’d said jovially, and Louis grinned anxiously up at Harry from beneath Robin’s warm arm. Harry decided to treasure their friendship while it persisted. 

If Robin ever discovered the genuine nature of Harry’s relationship with Louis, he wasn’t sure how long his fondness for Louis would last.

“Jay,” Robin was now saying, eyes bright with interest as they focused on the eyeglasses sitting beside Jay’s plate. “Are those framed in cherry wood?”

“They are, actually,” Jay smiled, lifting her glasses to show them to Robin. “I know it’s not the most common frame, and the wood is actually very delicate, but I just love how it looks,” she said, slipping them onto her nose.

“Handcrafted?” Robin asked eagerly, and Anne rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jay, Robin just loves woodcraft, it’s quite droll. Why, for Harry’s eleventh birthday, he didn’t get him a toy truck or a car, but a nightstand! He crafted it himself; it’s his little hobby.”

“How lovely!” Jay exclaimed, eyes bright. “You must be proud of this table, then?” she added, running a hand over the smooth wood of the dining table, and Robin beamed.

“Dark oak, and quite durable! Though I must say, I’m surprised it’s managed to hold up all our hearty meal’s worth; Anne, darling, shall we pack up?”

“I think so, yes,” Anne smiled. “Are you finished, lovelies?” she added, gesturing to the twins’ empty plates, and they nodded, hopping off of their chairs to chase one another around the table, each shrieking happily. 

“Loves, don’t you break anything,” Jay warned them. “Come help mumma with the butter, won’t you?” 

“Harry, Lou, darlings, do you think you could help me with—”

“Oh, let them be, Anne, they’ve worked hard for the past few months, haven’t they?” Robin said happily, beaming at the two boys, and Harry grinned, blushing. 

“All right,” Anne sighed. “Why don’t you take the twins into the den and put on a film? It’s getting a bit late, I’m sure they’d like to settle down.”

“Fantastic,” Jay agreed, ushering the little girls towards the corridor, and the boys followed, Harry taking Louis’s hand when they were out of sight and tugging him into the den. Louis smiled as his eyes settled on the warm fireplace, the soft couches lining the walls, and plopping into one of the massive armchairs, he yanked Harry playfully into his lap.

“Oi!” Harry protested, hiding a smile on his cheeks as Louis peppered his face with tiny kisses, and the two of them vaguely heard the twins miming vomiting a few yards away. “I’ve…I’ve got to put on a film for the girls,” Harry giggled, jerking as Louis pressed a ticklish kiss to his neck, and the older boy reluctantly let Harry skip to the television to slide a Disney DVD into the set. 

“I’ve already seen this one,” Phoebe whined as she clambered into Louis’s lap. Harry slid onto the cushions beside him, helping Daisy into his arms and patting her back.

“I haven’t,” Daisy announced, and Louis hushed Phoebe, who shrank into his chest with a pout. “I wanna be that one,” Daisy added as a princess strode onto the screen, dressed in a truly horrid shade of lavender, and Phoebe’s mouth dropped in outrage.

“No, I’m her!” She screeched, furiously turning to Daisy, who glared right back.

“Nuh-uh! Harry, I called it first—”

“Neither of you are the purple princess!” Louis declared, pressing nimble fingers to each of the girl’s lips, and each twin shrieked furiously. 

“C’mon darling, you don’t want to be a silly old princess anyway,” Harry smiled, stroking Daisy’s thin, blonde hair from her face, and Daisy sighed, pouting. “Besides, I think you loves would look much better in red, anyways.” 

“Fine,” Phoebe sighed, and Louis sent Harry a small smile over the top of her head. Harry, arms cradling Daisy, curled into Louis’s side, cheek on his shoulder. 

“Does the princess always marry a prince?” Daisy asked after a few minutes of the film, watching the purple disaster twirl around a man dressed like an elf. 

“Not always,” Louis answered finally. “In movies like these, they usually do,” he added sadly, and Phoebe turned in his arms to rest her chin on his chest. 

“But that’s not life real life,” she accused, frowning, and Louis laughed quietly. 

“Fairy tales aren’t real, love, I’m sorry,” he chuckled, and Harry squeezed his fingers. His was. Louis’s thumb skimmed his palm.

“So the princess doesn’t always choose the prince?” Daisy peeped quietly. “Can a princess choose another princess?”

“Of course,” Harry said gently. “If a princess loves another princess, she can.” The twins were quiet, pondering this, before Phoebe asked, “But then what happens to the princes? If they don’t have any princesses, what do they do?”

“Well,” Louis said thoughtfully, twirling a strand of Phoebe’s hair around his finger. “Sometimes, they find another princess, one that loves princes. But sometimes, the prince finds another prince.”

“The girl chooses the girl and the boy chooses the boy?” Daisy asked nose wrinkling in confusion. That was different.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Louis said, eyes very soft as he tried not to look at Harry. 

“Is that what happened to you?” Phoebe asked, turning to look up at her brother. Harry bit his lip, hiding his grin, Louis blinked, eyes soft as they flickered from his boy to his sister. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice suddenly tight in his throat as he wove an around Harry’s waist and tugged him tightly into his side, as if afraid to let him go. “Yeah, little bug, I found a prince.”

“A prince you like?” Phoebe peeped, and Louis laughed, smiling.

“Eh,” he shrugged, and Harry rewarded him with e gentle thwack to the back of the head. Louis grinned, eyes bright as sent Harry a wink. “Yeah. I think that’s fair to say.”

“And Harry likes you, right?”

“Eh,” was Harry’s mocking reply, and it was his turn for a smack. He grinned, cheeks aching as he burrowed his head into the dip of Louis’s shoulder, curls tickling Lou’s ear, and Louis rolled his eyes, tucking Harry’s locks out of his eyes. 

The twins sat in thoughtful silence, eyebrows furrowed and fingers in their mouths as they snuggled into the boys’ arms and watched the characters dart across the screen. Eventually, Phoebe’s eyes drooped, and her lips parted as she slumped sideways on the sofa and curled against the pillows, fast sleep. Daisy, eyes still wide as they roamed curiously from the screen to her sister and to the boys, wriggled in Harry’s lap, turning to wrap her arms around Harry’s neck and whisper in his ear.

“Harry,” she asked, loudly enough for Louis to hear. 

“Yes, love?” Harry asked gently, tucking a blonde strand of hair over her shoulder. 

“Am I ever gonna love someone like Louis loves you?” she asked shyly. Harry had blushed before, of course, had felt butterflies, had felt shy and giddy at the thought of his boy, his Louis – but somehow, nothing he’d ever felt before compared to what he was feeling now. His throat clenched, eyes suddenly warm as they darted everywhere but to the boy beside him. Louis smiled, face pink as he put a hand to his sister’s cheek, patting gently.

Suddenly, it was him that others were jealous of, it was he who had found love, who had something that no one else had. He had Louis.

“I hope so, darling,” Louis said quietly, eyes suddenly finding Harry’s, and despite his sudden nerves and his sudden butterflies, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from those blue eyes. “C’mere,” Louis added in a whisper, face suddenly so, very scared as he tipped Harry’s face towards his own with a thin finger and kissed him feverishly for a long, quiet moment, only pulling back when Daisy whined, giggling that they were “gross.” Harry chuckled as he lay back on the cushions, tucking Daisy into his chest and smiling as she yawned – not quite noticing just how troubled Louis looked as they separated. 

Daisy’s eyes fluttered shut, her lips smacking sleepily as she curled in Harry’s lap, cheek resting on his shoulder. Within moment, the two of them were fast asleep, Daisy small and sweet and Harry snoring like the dickens as he held her carefully to his heart.

Louis’s eyes prickled and his face tightened as he surveyed the, his boy with his baby sister, so gentle, so pretty, he was… He let a quiet sob fall from his lips, hoping it wouldn’t wake the other three.

How was he ever going to let Harry go? 

 

❡❡❡

 

“Darlings,” Jay’s whisper woke Harry a couple of hours later, and he blinked to see the dark of the den around him. He felt something warm and solid on his chest, and realised Daisy was still sleeping in his lap. 

“Mm, hullo,” Harry said sleepily, and Jay smiled, patting his cheek. 

“Sorry to wake you, love, but I’ve got to put the twins to bed. Thank you for looking after them, that was very sweet,” she added sincerely, beaming as she careful scooped Daisy out of his arms and onto her hip.

“It was no trouble,” Harry smiled, yawning as he sat up to gently rouse Phoebe, whose cheek was smooshed against a sleeping Louis’s shoulder, her thumb latched around her lip. “Shall we tuck you in, Pheebs?” he whispered as she opened her eyes blearily and peered up at Harry and her mother. 

“No,” she mumbled, suddenly grouchy as she turned, nuzzling further into Louis’s chest, and Jay tutted, smiling as she set Daisy down on Harry’s knee and scooped Phoebe into her arms instead. “Yes, I think so,” she murmured, tucking a lock fondly behind the grumpy girl’s ear, and she turned to Harry, whispering, “Do you mind getting Daisy, love?”

“Course not,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes and standing to prop Daisy up against his shoulder and follow Jay to the guestroom. The hide-a-way was out and waiting for the twins, sitting against the wall across from the guest bed where Fizzy and Lottie were fast asleep. 

“Night, Daisy-Maisy,” Harry whispered, tucking her in, “Night, Pheebs,” he added, patting Phoebe on the cheek. 

“Thank you, Harry,” Jay whispered, smiling and pecking Harry on the cheek before hugging him goodnight. “Do you think you could help Lou upstairs? He gets smart when he’s tired,” she said anxiously, and Harry grinned. 

“Don’t worry about it,” He said, “Goodnight, Jay.” He padded down the hall and back towards the den, smiling when he saw Louis sprawled across the couch, mouth gaping open and tee shirt wrinkled around his neck. What an idiot he loved.

“Boo,” he sang, teasing as he prodded Lou’s middle with his toe. “Wake up.” When he got no response, he crawled to Louis’s head, leaning beside his chest. “Don’t make me smack you.” When Louis did nothing but sleep, soft, tiny whirs of breath falling from his nose, Harry smiled and bent, pressing his tongue to Louis’s stubbly cheek and giving him one short, obnoxious lick. 

“Oi!” Louis sniffled with a start, eyes wide as they fluttered open and darted around the room in alarm. When they landed on Harry, they narrowed. “Should’ve known,” he growled, voice still groggy with sleep.

“You really should have,” Harry snickered, and was rewarded with a soft slap to the cheek. “Hey!” he added, indignant. 

“You lick my cheek, I slap yours,” Louis said slyly, eyes bleary as he leaned up into a sitting position. “Are you gonna show me your bedroom or are you going to pout here like an idiot?” he asked, grinning, and Harry scowled, stepping purposefully on Louis’s toes. He probably should have learned by now that everything he did with Louis would come back to him, because the next moment Louis had latched himself onto Harry’s waist and planted his feet firmly on Harry’s, refusing to hop down. Harry was failing rather horribly at getting him off.

“The day you learn to stop messing with me will be a remarkable day indeed,” Louis mused happily as Harry grunted, struggling to take steps down the corridor. How was he going to get up the stairs? 

Louis screeched as Harry suddenly wrapped his arms around Louis’s middle and hauled him off of his feet with a sudden swoop, swinging him into his arms like one of the twins, and he stumbled slightly as Louis managed to scramble onto his back, laughing in Harry’s ear. 

“Go, Jiablo, go!” he shouted in a whisper, smacking Harry’s hip and resting his chin on his shoulder, and Harry grumbled half-heartedly as he carried Louis up the stairs and past Gemma’s room, right to his own door. “Okay, I want to get down,” Louis demanded, and he pressed a thankful kiss to Harry’s mouth before clambering to the floor once more. “I am I about to go inside and see your well-concealed torture chamber and a bound prostitute? Because if that’s the case, I might be a little unnerved.”

“You still wanna stay?” Harry said somberly, and Louis snickered heartily before grabbing the handle and opening the door, stepping inside. Harry’s bedroom was small – it always had been – and fairly colorless. Charcoal grey sheets neatly draped the bed, sitting before a sheen of pale, creamy curtains covering the window. 

“You know,” Louis whispered, voice much quieter in the warm, small space, “For such a talented bloke, your bedroom’s pretty boring.”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. He’d never invested much in this room. He hadn’t really had a reason to. 

Louis padded about the room, looking around and touching whatever he could reach like a child in a toy shoppe, and Harry stood in the doorframe, smiling as he watched. 

“Whoah, you have one of those thingies,” Louis gasped, eyes wide as he bent over Harry’s dresser to poke at the set of Newton Balls hanging from their strings. He giggled as he lifting one and let it fall, sending the opposite steele bouncing off of the others. He grinned, standing upright to inspect the rest of the room. While he did so, Harry stepped inside and sat down on the edge of his bed, slipping out of his socks. 

“I kind of like it. A little,” Louis finally announced, joining Harry and plopping dramatically down onto the mattress. “Kind of small… I’m not fond of the size, but otherwise, I like it all right.”

“I don’t,” Harry smiled. “You can have it.”

“How come?” Louis asked, though his eyes were glinting. Harry shrugged.

“Just didn’t like it here. Never really have… Maybe I’d like a mansion with a flat screen in my room a bit better,” he joked, “But it’d still be in Holmes.” Louis was quiet. His eyes roamed the room again.

“When we leave,” he finally said, “When we’re working – we’ll probably be in London, don’t you reckon? – We’ll get you the biggest, brightest, most wonderful room that’s ever been.” He looked back to Harry, whose throat had gotten very tight in the past few seconds. “It’ll look nothing like this.” 

“Okay,” was all Harry trusted himself to say without tearing up. This boy…

Louis’s eyes were wary and gentle as he turned to look at the walls, look at the posters and the cheesy nature calendar hanging by pushpins. He reached up to thumb the corner of a playbill advertising a concert of The Script’s, his face suddenly bright. He shook his head, mumbling, “crazy,” under his breath with a grin, and Harry smiled. 

Louis was quiet as he moved to inspect the things sitting on Harry’s nightstand. He rolled a bottle of pink pills around in his palm, thoughtful, and blinked softly down at a photo of Harry and Gemma sitting in a little frame. His fingers ran over the wood, feeling the rounded edges and soft corners, smooth, smooth, smooth until—

“What are these?” Louis asked quietly, and Harry froze. Louis’s fingers rested over the familiar lines of small, dark scratches etched neatly into the table, deep and dark, significant. Harry couldn’t open his mouth. Louis knew of his depression, knew he needed the pink pills, but he had never known that things had ever progressed as far as they had, never known or noticed the scars over his wrists and ankles. He didn’t... He couldn’t scare… He couldn’t do anything that would cost him his Louis. 

“Babe,” Louis whispered, voice stronger now, “What are these mark things, here?”

“What mark things?” Harry finally asked, playing dumb.

“How do you manage to amaze me with your horrid acting every time?” Louis asked with a crooked smile before bending back to the marks. He reckoned there were over one hundred of them, some spaced further apart than others and some running deeper where others were shallow. Some were crooked, some were straight, and they were so meticulously cut that it was almost unnerving. “Harry?” he added, suspicion rising slightly in his gut as he turned to see Harry sitting stalk-still, shoulders tense and lip caught in his teeth. 

“Er… It… They were there when we bought it – the nightstand…” Harry stuttered, cheeks quite pale, and Louis eyebrows knitted in concern. He crawled over to him, their knees bumping as he took one of Harry’s hand in his, thumb tracing circles over his palm. 

“Haz, your mum said at dinner that the nightstand was a gift, remember?” he reminded him gently, wishing Harry didn’t think he needed to be dishonest with him. “What is it, baby?”

Harry blinked, jaw clenched tight as he looked anxiously back at Louis, eyes so blue, so gentle, so trusting… He…He had to…

Throat aching, he bit his quivering lip and closed his eyes, beginning to quiver slightly as he slowly took his hand from Louis’s and began to roll up his sleeves. Even before he saw the scars, Louis’s eyes dawned in dark understanding. Not wasting any time, he scooted forward to lay Harry’s arm in his lap, lips parted and eyes wide as he ran his fingers up and down the feint, thin scars he’d never noticed before, and how could he have never noticed, how could he have been so oblivious to this horrible part of his love’s past?

“The scratches, in the wood,” Harry croaked, face pinched. “One for every day I never cut.”

“Oh, Haz… I, your – Oh,” Louis whispered softly, his own throat tight as they counted one, two, three, four, five, six… As the scars ran up his arms and disappeared under his sleeves, he stopped counting. He had the awful feeling in his stomach that there were too many to keep track of.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, his voice strained and cracked as he squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry I did it.”

“No,” Louis whispered, his own eyes beginning to leak as he hurriedly crawled into Harry’s lap and wrapped him as tightly to his chest as he could, letting him know that it was okay, that he didn’t do anything wrong, that he was okay…

“Don’t you ever apologize,” he whispered, his voice wretched as he sobbed quietly against Harry’s neck. “Don’t you ever. You never have to be sorry, okay?” He felt Harry’s chin on his shoulder, felt the tremble of his lips against his ear, and Oh, Harry…

“I took every cut I wanted to put in me and I put it in there instead,” Harry whispered. “I wanted to be better. I wanted to be good enough if I ever found someone like you.” If it was possible, Louis’s stomach began to ache ever further, the blow in his chest worsening as Harry spoke.

“You are better,” he murmured earnestly, needing Harry to know, “You’re always good enough. You’re better. You’re…You’re Harry.”

“I know,” Harry whispered, withdrawing to look Louis in the eye, and somehow he’d never seemed so scared. “That’s why I cut.”

“Really,” Louis murmured, eyes wet and cheeks raw as he ran his thumb over Harry’s cheek, tucking his curls behind his ear. “Because that’s why I love you.” He bent, taking Harry’s arms back in his hands and running his fingers over the little lines, ladders with no direction. “These,” he said gently, tracing around the whitest of the scars, “Will be the last.” He looked up at Harry. “You deserve better,” he whispered, and that was when Harry began to cry. 

He let Louis tuck him back into his arms, let him rub his back, kiss his cheek, kiss his mouth, his scars. Harry tucked his chin over Louis’s shoulder, lips inches from his ear. “You are my better.”


	28. Addicted

❡❡❡

 

On Christmas day, three important things happened.

First, the two families gathered around the Styles’ Christmas tree down in the parlor at some ungodly hour of the morning when both Robin and Louis would much rather have been sleeping, and Harry gave Louis his Christmas present.

“Is that all of them?” Anne asked, still pink with happiness from the pair of cruise tickets that had been Robin’s gift to her, as she surveyed the frightening mass of wrapping paper that littered the floor. Louis’s heart deflated slightly; Harry hadn’t gotten him anything. Then, Harry’s eyes widened and he lept to his feet as if a fire alarm had just gone off.

“No, no! Louis has to open his last present!” He’d said anxiously, and while the Tomlinsons’ brows wrinkled with confusion—there were obviously no gifts left underneath the tree—the Styleses and Robin simply nodded warily, waiting patiently to see what odd antic Harry had up his sleeve this time.

“Here,” Harry said, positively giddy as he cupped his hands and scooped up a handful of air—literally, nothing at all, he scooped up nothing—and opened them over Louis’s lap, as if to dump the air right on top of his knees.

“Wh…What?” Louis asked slowly, looking to Anne for help, and she only sighed, shrugging, and Louis let his hands flutter uncertainly over the “present” floating in his lap. “Oh…” he trailed off, not quite sure how to respond… “Thanks, Haz, I…What is it?”

“Me,” Harry said simply, eyes wide.

Though Louis had to excuse himself to the bathroom to mop his teary eyes for several long minutes – only to be interrupted by an anxious Harry, asking if he was okay, and then kissed feverishly by a sappy Harry – and he’d loved the gift of “Harry” perhaps more than anything he’d ever gotten for Christmas, Harry had another, tangible present waiting for him upstairs, in the privacy of Harry’s room. Harry presented him with a small, rectangular box that was wrapped so impeccably it was almost painful to look at, and Louis knew without asking that Harry had done the job himself.

Inside was pair of Toms Louis remembered pointing aimlessly to in a catalogue four or five months earlier, in the days of the Bungalow. That, of course, had Louis off to the bathroom again to wipe his eyes on a washclothe embroidered with a turtle and the letter H.

Second, Louis got an incoming call on his cell phone, the caller ID reading “Simon Cowell.” He let it ring. Moments later, a text message came in, containing nothing but the legend, “Jan 3. Happy Holidays.”

Third, it rained. This wasn’t really anything special, except for the fact that it didn’t usually rain in the winter – snow and sleet was more common – and of course, the fact that Harry wanted to play in it.

Somehow, he managed to squash Louis into a new pair of galoshes – a gift from Jay – and one of Harry’s roomy raincoats and drag him over the threshold and into the cold, and by the time the two of them were huddled tightly beneath Lottie’s polka-dotted umbrella, Louis was still mulling over how the hell Harry had possibly gotten him here. He hated the cold. He hated the rain. He hated the smell of rain, and he hated the ugly slush the rain made from the snow, but somehow, he couldn’t quite bring himself to go back inside. Harry wasn’t inside. He decided he might as well tolerate the weather while he was out here.

“I hate rain,” he decided to gripe anyway, just because he could, and he glared down at the mirage of pavement outside the house and crammed his shivering hands into the pockets of Harry’s coat. Of course it had to reach the middle of his thighs, of course he had to hunch simply to be able to slide his hands into the pockets at all.

“Ho, the wind and the rain, a foolish thing was but a toy, for the rain it raineth every day,” Harry chirped with a happy sigh, and Louis ground his teeth.

“Don’t you fucking dare quote Shakespeare at me,” he warned Harry, who laughed and wrapped an arm around Louis, tucking him tightly to his side and rubbing his shoulder, trying to warm him. It was absolutely not cute and it absolutely did not make Louis’s cheeks turn the colour of his new boots. Really, it didn’t. “I hate you,” Louis added with a grudging murmur, barely audible as he turned his face into Harry’s chest, cheeks smooshed against that beating heart, and damn it, Harry only grinned harder.

“I know,” he sang, eyes soft as he wound Louis’s damp locks around his free hand, twirling and stroking as gently as his clumsy fingers could, and Louis honestly thought he just might start sobbing again.

“I love you,” he mumbled into Harry’s heart, grateful the cover of the noisy rain hid the tremor in his voice.

“I know,” Harry said again, voice barely heard now as it quieted, but Louis didn’t need to hear. He knew Harry understood, hoped he’d always understand. “I love you too. So much.”

“I know,” Louis whispered, and Harry smiled, almost giggling but managing to stop himself, and Louis couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Harry suddenly fell silent, and Louis could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain and those green eyes focused on the rain falling around the, lips parted and brows knitted.

“No,” Louis began to growl gently, knowing exactly what Harry was thinking, but it was too late; Harry had already yanked the handle of the umbrella from Louis’s hands and flung it over his shoulder to float in the street a few metres away. “Harry—”

“Lou! Come on!” Harry suddenly said, voice loud as he clutched both of Louis’s hands in his and tugged him out into the midst of the shower, letting it positively drench the two of them. “It’s just like the Notebook!” As his feet tapped happily around in the water in a pleased, clumsy little skip, he yanked Louis gently up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“No,” Louis said furiously, face set as he let his ankles snap together and his knees lock. “No, we are not kissing in the rain. We are not that cliché.”

“We aren’t?” Harry asked, his eyebrows wrinkling and no-no-no-no-no-no-don’t do that, Louis wanted to beg; the way he looked like an oddly attractive puppy dog on long, lanky legs gave Harry a distinctly unfair advantage. Louis pointedly turned his gaze, swallowing hard, and he could almost feel Harry smug little grin.

“No,” Louis said again, teeth gritted as he crossed his arms firmly over his chest. “Go get the umbrella, Harold. I am not that cliché, and you are not that cliché.”

“Excuse you,” Harry chuckled, voice low and raspy and rocky and rich and perfect and stupid and everything terrible about the world, “Have you met me?”

“Unfortunatel—” Louis began to mutter tersely but was cut off as Harry pressed a hard, warm kiss to the soft of his throat, curving an annoyingly careful path over his neck and along the sharp edge of Louis’s jaw, and Louis gasped, finally unclenching his crossed arms to clutch at Harry’s waist and whine, “Haz, you can’t do—I—that isn’t f-fair!”

“Let’s talk about fair for a moment, shall we?” Harry grinned, reluctantly pulling his mouth from his temple to work his arms underneath Louis’s jacket and tug him against his chest by the waist. “Let’s talk about how fair it is for you to walk around looking like that,” Harry began, eyes wide and dazzled as they roamed Louis’s rain-pattered cheeks, his glowing blue eyes, “Let’s talk about how fair it is that you’re somehow the most perfect human being on the planet, and there’s only one of you.” Louis bit his lip, whining quietly as Harry began to run his fingertips in small, gentle circles over his back and ribs. “Let’s talk about how fair it is that you, of all people, chose me, of all people. Would you like to talk about fair?”

Louis was stuck here verbally for two different reasons, one of them being the fact that the way Harry’s lips were murmuring against the height of his cheekbone had somehow rendered him incapable of anything regarding thought, movement, or speech. The other was the dark knowledge, gnawing a guilty, horrible hole through Louis’s chest beneath Harry’s palms, that by January the third, their relationship would be anything but fair.

“Don’t talk,” Louis finally managed to stutter, eyelashes fluttering wildly as Harry let his lips brush gentle patterns up and down Louis’s jaw, “Just kiss me.”

“I thought you weren’t that cli—” Harry began loudly, the smug, know-it-all grin of a five-year-old suddenly plastered across his face, and Louis growled, not sure whether he was mad at Harry for being such an obnoxious little shit or for being so damn perfect.

“The only lip I want out of you is the quiet kind,” he muttered playfully against Harry’s cheek as he cut him off, fists gripping the collar of Harry’s coat, and Harry finally laughed gently, little bells in the air, before cupping Louis’s tiny face in his not-tiny-at-all hands and kissed him like the world had stopped spinning indefinitely.

_Happy Holidays indeed, Simon._

 

❡❡❡


	29. I Love You

❡❡❡

 

On January 1, Louis’s cell phone rang. Eyes blurry, he stretched, nose nuzzling a cheek belonging to someone else, and untangled himself from Harry’s arms as he fumbled for his phone vibrating on the notched nightstand. Simon Cowell. He wasn’t all that surprised. It didn’t stop his heart from sinking into his stomach.

“’Lo?” he croaked, still groggy as he sat up, gently tucking Harry’s hand over his chest and rubbing his eyes. 

“Louis,” Simon said warmly. “How have your holidays been?”

“Great,” Louis sighed. “Really good. Yours?”

“Decent, thank you,” Simon said. “Have you been in contact with the boys?”

“Of course,” Louis said, shifting on Harry’s mattress. Simon chuckled.

“Fantastic. Well, Louis, I’m going to be honest; I called to check up on you and see how you were doing with what we discussed in my office on the thirteenth.” Louis’s mouth was suddenly dry.

“I…I’m working on it.”

“Louis,” Simon said, his voice suddenly much more urgent. “It’s the first of January. You have two days. Have you even spoken with Harry about this?”

“I haven’t—We’re—”

“Babe?” A sleepy voice mumbled, and Louis turned to see that Harry was stirring, blinking up at him with a smile. “Who’s that?”

“Just a minute, doll,” Louis murmured, pressing the receiver to his chest and bending to kiss him good morning. “It’s just Simey; you can go back to bed.” Harry’s nose wrinkled like a kitten’s and he squeezed Louis’s fingers once before rolling over and falling back asleep. 

“Lou,” Simon sighed with frustration over the phone, as if he’d known what had just went on in Harry’s room. “The longer you leave this, the more difficult it’s going to be. Not only for you, but for Harry and the other three as well.”

“I know, I know,” Louis whispered, teeth blenching as he began to panic. As Harry stirred again, cracking a confused eye open and blinking curiously up at Louis, Louis waved a hand in his direction and hurried to scramble off the bed and to the door. He shut himself in the bathroom and leaned against the wall, fingers fumbling anxiously with the soft towels hanging on a rack.

“I don’t see why you’re procrastinating here,” Simon said. “What are you planning, for the two of you to show up in London on Monday and have them ask Harry if you’ve dumped him yet? Would you prefer for him to hear the news like that?”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Louis hissed, biting his lip. “I can’t… He’s so fucking happy, Si, I can’t…”

Simon was quiet. Louis heard him sigh over the line, and what sounded like a chair squeaking.

“Would you like me to talk to him?” He finally asked. “I could have the two of you arrive tomorrow and…inform him of the circumstances.”

“Could you do that?” Louis asked pathetically, infinitesimal relief falling over his shoulders. “I mean… I know I’m being a prat.”

“I would be willing to do that, but you would have to be at my office by eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ve got dozens of other appointments that come first in priority, and I don’t want to do this unless I have to. You’re sure you want me to talk to him?”

“Yes,” Louis begged him. “Please, Simon, I’m not sure how I could tell him myself.”

“All right,” Simon sighed, sounding quite tired. “I’ll see you at eleven tomorrow. Have a good New Year’s, Louis.”

“Thanks, Simon,” Louis said, just a tired as Simon must have felt. “I… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What did Si want?” Harry croaked sleepily as Louis crawled back into bed, curls rumpled and cheeks pink from where he’d lain on his pillow last night. Louis wanted to kiss him.

“It’s not important right now,” he murmured, kissing the top of his head and snuggling back into his side. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“M’kay,” Harry sighed happily, wrapping his arms around Louis and falling asleep with his cheek on his shoulder.

 

❡❡❡

 

Jay, Anne, Gemma, Daisy, Phoebe, Louis, and Harry all looked up as a racket echoed down the corridor and from the guestroom, and the last two sisters came tumbling into the kitchen in full row.

“Well, it looks like you won’t have to worry about your precious pyjamas, will you, because I’m never sharing a room with you again!” Fizzy screeched, little palms smacking Lottie’s arms, and Jay sighed, rising to her feet and sending a sorry glance towards Anne. 

“Good!” Lottie shouted. “I’m glad! Who would ever want to share a room with you, anyway?”

“Girls!” Jay scolded, squirming in between them and pushing them towards the kitchen table. “You knock that off! You know better than to fight, much less to do it in someone else’s home! Now, sit down and eat your breakfast.”

“But mum!” Lottie cried. “Fizz got toothpaste all over my new night robes!” 

“It’s not the end of the world, I’m sure it was an accident. We’ll clean them up at home. Now sit down and eat what Missus Anne has made for you!”

The girls grumbled, pouting heavily into their plates as they slid bacon between their lips, and Anne smiled tiredly down at Jay, eyes twinkling. 

“Don’t worry, Fizzy,” Harry said happily as he tips apple juice over his lips. “I spill things all the time, it happens.”

“Like what?” Phoebe piped, looking up curiously.

“Oh,” Harry hummed, looking suddenly troubled. “Well… There was this one time I spilled milk down the stairs when I was five. Remember that, mum?”

“I do,” Anne muttered tersely from the sink, and Gemma grinned, turning to Louis and whispering, “Eleven years later and he still doesn’t know I tripped him.”

Louis giggled weakly, looking back at Harry, eyes round and innocent as he pondered over his bacon, apple juice slicking his lips, and he swallowed around the lump forming slowly in his throat. 

“Once, I got hot sauce in my cereal,” he noted thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Wasn’t bad… Well, it was, actually. But, you know.” Louis looked down at his plate.

“Oh! Lou!” Harry suddenly said, eyes brightening, and Louis pursed his lips, looking back up at him. “Remember that second day in the X House when you were tickling me and pushed me into Niall, and I got coffee all over my front?”

“Yeah,” Louis said, voice quiet as he smiles, and Harry grinned. 

“He washed it for me,” Harry announced proudly to the table, looking like a pleased teacher with a student who’d gotten an exceptional mark on an exam. 

“What?” Jay asked sharply, looking up. “Louis, you’ve never washed a thing in your life. Are you sure it was him?”

“Yeah,” Harry giggled anxiously as Louis blushed, smiling down at Harry’s hands. “Yeah, I taught him which cycle to use and all that. He tried to put detergent in the dryer at first, but he got the hang of it. Even folded my shirt for me afterwards, because he felt bad about the coffee.”

Because I felt bad about the coffee, Louis thought, smirking humourlessly, and really, it had sounded like a good excuse in his head at that time. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to admit to himself that he loved the smile he saw on Harry’s face when he’d gawked down at what he’d called dryer sheets. 

“And then, the night before the finals,” Harry continued, looking ridiculously pleased for a person talking about how many times he’d fucked up before, “I got marshmallow all over Louis’s best coat. Sorry,” he added hastily, looking to Louis, who’s eyes were suddenly a little too hot and too wet as he recalled that night around the fire, the two of them kissing to the sound of flames and the lack of others around them. He was suddenly standing from his chair.

“I need to use the loo,” he said before he could stop himself, and Harry nodded happily, going back to his kipper and waving Louis towards the toilet. Louis felt Jay’s eyes on him as he strode quickly down the corridor. 

He closed the door and sat down on the edge of the bath, pinching the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. How could this have happened, that he could have landed himself in this kind of situation? Harry… Oh, Harry.

How could he do this, be apart from him when he was outside this room, green eyes and silky lashes and bowed lips, those stupid curls and that personality, the way he managed to make Louis feel like he was the center of the universe…

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pursing his lips tight and swallowing hard. “Fuck, fuck...” He’d never thought he’d find the love of his life, the person he fell into sync with like two half notes only to be told they could never be together, never be there for one another, not like this… His eyes burned, hotter and hotter.

“Lou?” he heard Jay’s voice from behind the door, followed by her timid knock. “Louis, darling, can I come in?” When Louis didn’t answer, she stepped inside, looking him up and down and perching to kneel in front of him. “Lou?”

“Um,” Louis breathed, and he lifted his face to realise his eyes had begun to brim, and he coughed into his hand to try and wipe them without her noticing.

“Louis, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Louis whispered, trying to smile and ending with an odd grimace on his mouth. “It’s… I’m fine, mum.”

“Louis,” Jay said sternly. “You’re in tears, what’s the matter? Is there something going on between you and Harry?”

“No,” Louis said, face crumpling. “That’s just it, everything is perfect, he and I are perfect, and he’s the most wonderful person in the world.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Everything’s perfect,” Louis whimpered again, “And it will all be over in a couple of hours.”

“What?” Jay asked sharply. “Louis, I’m confused, what are you talking about?”

Louis sighed shakily, leaning back and blinking up at the ceiling.

“When I signed the contract,” He began, voice rocky. “There was a clause that Julia never mentioned to me – about inter and outer-band relationships.”

“Oh,” Jay whispered, quickly caughtening on. Louis gulped.

“Simon told me I have two options,” he continued, voice cracking. “I can break up with Harry. We can remain part of the band and become successful during the tour and with our record deal, but we would never be allowed to be together as a couple as long as the contract is in effect.”

“Or?” Jay asked sharply.

“Or,” Louis said, “We can stay together and Modest Management will file a lawsuit against us, suing both our family and Harry’s family for as much as five hundred thousand pounds, depending on how much we’ve made by the time the suit is filed. Ultimately we would no longer be a part of the band.”

He looked up at her, eyes wet.

“What else can I do, mum?” he whimpered, dabbing at his cheeks. “I won’t ruin his future like that. I won’t do that to Anne. What would you do?”

“Oh, Lou,” Jay whispered, kneeling to tuck him against her chest. “Baby, I’m sorry.”

“I love him more than anything, mum,” Louis sobbed into Jay’s shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to be alone.”

“I know,” Jay said, patting his back. “I know, hon. It’ll be okay, Harry will understand. He’d do the same thing; you know that.”

“I know,” Louis sniffled, dragging his knuckles over his wet cheek. “I’m so scared, though. I want to be with him, always.”

“Shh, Louis, you have to calm down,” Jay said, leaning back to grip Louis by the shoulders and thumb at his eyes. “You’ll still be with him, you’ll still be friends. It’s not over for you, you need to understand that, right?”

“I k-know,” Louis sniffled again, face screwed as he ducked his head, tucking his chin into his chest.

“Sweetie, there’s a reason Simon gave this task to you instead of Harry. He’s younger, more naïve, he wouldn’t be able to handle this like you can. You need to think of him, okay? You need to keep your composure and do whatever you can to make this easier on that boy.” 

For Harry, he thought sullenly, grabbing the embroidered wash clothe from the sink and running it under cold water before mopping gently at his red cheeks. Jay was right; if he felt half the feelings Louis felt for Harry, he would be crushed. He needed to support him, to be there and let him know he would never leave him, that they would always be friends, at the very least. 

“Speak of the devil,” Jay smiled sadly, rubbing Louis’s shoulder as a timid knock came to the door and Louis heard Harry’s voice from the corridor.

“Babe? Are you okay?” he asked anxiously, and Louis squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before setting the wet wash clothe down and stepping out of the toilet.

“Hi,” he said as nonchalantly as he could, Jay walking around the two of them to head back into the kitchen. Harry looked down at him, eyes wide and lip caught nervously between his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, and Louis pursed his lips, not quite thinking before he let his hands snake around Harry’s waist and stood on his toes to press a long, gentle kiss to his mouth.

“Can we talk about it later?” Louis asked, and Harry, cheeks pale, nodded, kissing Louis on the forehead and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Let’s go finish breakfast,” he said, reaching down to take his hand and lead him back to the table, where the girls were in a full-blown argument over the last glass of carrot juice.

 

❡❡❡

 

“Thanks again for having us, Anne,” Louis said earnestly, wringing her hand, and Anne bit her lip as she tugged him forward into a warm hug. 

“Oh, Louis, you and your family are welcome any time, okay?”

“Thank you, that means loads,” Louis smiled, kissing her cheek and squeezing her shoulder one last time. “Are you sure you don’t want us to help you tidy up the guestroom before we go?”

“Oh, of course not, don’t be silly,” Anne said, waving a hand. “All I ask is that you come back soon, okay? Or you’ll give Harry another bout of separation anxiety.”

“Mum,” Harry whined, slinking through the snow and towards the Tomlinsons’ car, and Louis forced a smile to his face, nodding tightly. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, Anne; we’ll call you when we get to London. Thanks for everything.”

The two boys set off over the lawn, crunchy with snow, Harry kissing Anne goodbye one more time before scampering after Louis. They slid their luggage into the boot and wriggled into the back seat next to the twins, already waiting with Fizzy, Lottie, and Jay.

As soon as they left Holmes Chapel’s city limits, Lottie, Phoebe, and Harry had conked out, the girls curled beneath their seat belts and Harry slumped in Louis’s lap, thumb tucked loosely around the hem of his hoodie and lashes fluttering as he dozed. Louis ran the tips of his fingers over Harry’s palm, ignoring Jay’s gaze in the reflection of the rear view mirror. 

“Louis,” she murmured quietly, and Louis only pursed his lips, shaking his head and blinking as he brushed Harry’s curls out of his eyes. Touched the little ladders in his wrists.

“It’ll be okay,” he said vaguely to her, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the seat all the same. 

 

❡❡❡

 

“Morning, boys,” Simon said curtly as the two of them stepped into the lobby, high on the tenth floor of the Syco Record headquarters. 

“Hello,” Harry chirped, and Simon cast Louis a sharp glance before beckoning them towards a common room, modern furniture circling a coffee table and sitting beside a coffee bar. 

“You can set your luggage here until the other three arrive,” he said, opening a closet door and taking their bags. “We’ll have your bags sent to a hotel at noon during the meeting.” 

“Lou, you want a cuppa?” Harry asked quietly, nodding towards the coffee bar, and Louis nodded, face tight as he slid into an uncomfortable armchair. “There you are,” Harry smiled, setting Louis’s tea in his hands and sipping from his own cup. “There was only a sweetener, so you haven’t got any sugar, but.”

“It’s fine, thanks, love,” Louis mumbled, taking a sip and shuddering slightly at the taste of stevia. “Tastes great.” Harry beamed, and Louis turned, biting his lip as Simon strode into the common area.

“Lou? Shall we do this now?” He asked, and a lump forming rather quickly in Louis’s throat, and he nods, teeth clenched. “All right. We’ll have you wait out here, then. Harry?” he gestured towards his office, and Harry, face puzzled, sent Louis a long look before he rose to his feet and followed Simon inside. The door shut, and Louis let his head sink into his hands. 

It was too late now, too late to tap Simon on the shoulder and tell him he changed his mind, tell him he didn’t want to lose Harry like this. He never could have done such a thing in the first place, he knew that, but the finality of the entire thing settled heavily on his shoulders as the minutes ticked away, Harry and Simon shut inside, speaking.

Louis felt his eyes begin to burn, wondering if Simon was telling him now, telling him he couldn’t have the support he’d been relying on for months in the way he wanted, couldn’t have the relationship he’d been waiting for since they first met. He wondered what would happen to Harry.

He didn’t leave Simon’s office for a good half hour. When he did, Louis looked up, half terrified and half heartbroken. If anything, Harry looked worse. 

He could tell he had been crying; he’d always been an emotional one – his lips red and bitten, his lashes never looking longer… He looked horror-struck. He looked like a little boy who didn’t quite know where he was. 

Louis thought back to that rainy day in November, when he’d found Harry wet and shivering in the woods, his hair matted and his lips blue. He’d remembered thinking that even with bloodshot eyes and raw cheeks, skin white and sore, he was still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

Now was no different. Though, back then, he’d marveled; what a lovely person his best friend was. What an amazing thing they would soon become, this gorgeous boy and Louis. Now, his heart seemed to shatter, his stomach ached with how entirely unfair this was. 

“Haz,” was all Louis could whisper as Harry looked down at him, wide eyes and parted lips bedecking his shattered face, and without hesitation he barreled forward into his arms, curling into the chair Louis occupied and tucking him as tightly to his chest as he could. 

Who knew when he’d be able to hold him like this again?

 

❡❡❡

 

The two of them were quiet as they rode to their hotel in the back of cab. The other three had gone separately, thinking they’d need time alone, though Louis was now wishing they hadn’t. Anything was better than this silence, this lack of communication between them. 

“Are you okay?” Louis finally asked, turning to look at Harry, his cheeks sore and eyes bloodshot. Harry only sniffed, nodding to himself, not looking at him, and Louis felt his heart sink slowly into his stomach.

He’d convinced himself to do this, to make the right decision about their relationship simply knowing he’d still have his best friend, still have Harry there with him to laugh with him, to smile with him, to comfort him when he needed it. If this had ended that, if Harry wouldn’t be there anymore… Louis’s lip began to tremble.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “Please.” Harry turned, jaw shut tight and eyes wide, and Louis unbuckled his seat belt to slide across the leather and nudge Harry’s knees with his own. “Don’t go away from me,” he murmured, and Harry bit his lip, looking down into his lap. He didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride. 

The two of them settled in their hotel room, Harry in the shower and Louis brushing his teeth, doing everything they could to keep themselves busy until the inevitable came. When it did, Harry stood sullenly in the doorway, hair dry and clothes clean, as Louis curled into his sweatshirt in the recesses of his bed. 

“How long did you know about this?” Harry finally asked, voice slightly hoarse, and Louis looked up at him, face sad as he tucked his fists into his sleeves. 

“Since we were signed,” he whispered. Harry’s face crumbled.

“And you never told me?”

“I’m sorry,” Louis said, lip shaking as his eyes burned again. “I knew if I told you, you’d want to do the right thing and try to end this quickly. I just wanted to have you to myself as long as I could.” 

Harry was silent; the two of them looked at once another, unspoken thoughts of finality passing tangibly in the air, and Harry dragged his knuckles across his cheek once more.

“I want to be yours,” he whispered. “I want to you to have me too.”

“Oh, Haz,” Louis sighed, throat aching, and Harry echoed him shakily. He knelt onto the bed beside Louis, curled against the pillows.

“Just give me one more night,” he asked, eyes sad as he blinked morosely up at Louis, and Louis seemed to crack, face crumpling as he nodded and crawled into Harry’s lap. He lay against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and closing his eyes to the feeling of Harry’s fingers running circles over his arm. God, how he’d miss this…

“I want to kiss you.” He whispered into his shoulder.

“You can.” Harry whispered, fingers like feathers as they cupped Louis’s chin, tipped his face towards his own. “You still can…”

“Not for long,” Louis breathed, eyes wide, terrified, and Harry’s face crumpled. 

“Then kiss me now. I don’t want to forget you, Louis.”

Their lips slid between one another’s, anxious and needy and desperate, and Louis felt something odd, something cosmic in Harry as he moved his mouth like a dream over Louis’s, and they felt like drifting clouds, starstruck and bewildered as they floated away. Suddenly, Louis held him tighter, kissed him harder, wanted to bury the grooves of Harry’s lips in his own, wanted to meld their hands together and hold him here forever – now, more than ever, because he knew he never could.

Harry tugged himself back gently, eyes hooded and lips pouted as he tucked Louis against his chest and rained his forehead in kisses. Louis’s throat tightened, and he curled himself beneath the arch of Harry.

“We shouldn’t have done this,” Louis whispered, eyes shut tight against his chest. “Fallen in love.”

“Lou,” Harry laughed, eyes wet as he sighed, running his fingers through Louis’s hair. “We never fell. We jumped.”

“Like little boys from a rooftop.”

“We ended up falling in the end, didn’t we?”

“I don’t think we’ve hit the ground quite yet,” Louis whispered, propping his chin gently on Harry’s chest as he looked up at him, hair in his eyes, face round with fear.

“What do you mean?” Harry whispered, looking down at him, tucking the bangs back. Seeing the blue.

“I dunno. I’m just scared,” Louis whispered, and Harry blinked, eyes trickling.

“Me too,” Harry said. “It doesn’t stop me from loving you.”

“You can’t, Harry.” 

“I know,” Harry wept, “God, I know. It’s so unfair…It’s not right…”

“What else can we do?” Louis sobbed. “We couldn’t do that to Niall, to Zayn, to Li… I couldn’t do that to you, darling.”

“I don’t want to hurt you either,” Harry said. “Never, ever…”

“I’ll miss you,” Louis sniffled. “You know. I know we’ll always be with each other, but I’ll miss having you like this.”

“I’ll miss that too, you know I will,” Harry sighed. “But you’re right. I’ll still be with you. I’ll still know you, still have you, just not in this way.”

“Yeah,” Louis said, looking up at Harry again, rubbing at his cheeks. “We were always close friends. The best.”

“The best,” Harry agreed.

“Maybe this is…I dunno,” Louis sniffled, burying his face into Harry’s chest. “Maybe this will be good. It could be good, right?” He asked desperately, and Harry’s face crumpled as he listened to Louis search for reasons to want this, to want anything less than Harry as a whole.

“I…Oh,” Harry breathed, eyes round, suddenly so, so hurt as he looked up at Louis, and that right there nearly broke Louis’s composure. He looked away, closed his eyes.

“I mean… Simon’s right… It probably would have caused problems in the band eventually, right?” he asked, searching avidly for something to make this okay, somehow, to make this better than it was. “I mean… Remember the way you and I would fight before we got together? It’ll probably happen again at some point. Even if it’s not just between you and me; it might be between us and anyone else in the band. We couldn’t…We couldn’t let that happen, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, voice barely audible as he hid his face, rested his chin on his hand.

“I hated fighting with you,” Louis breathed, “I don’t want any feelings to get in between us like that again.” Harry didn’t either. He didn’t want to fight or argue with Louis, he just wanted him, wanted every inch of him to love and call his own. 

“We’re young, anyway, aren’t we?” Louis whispered, mind flying, “We can’t… It’s not even legal…”

Harry’s throat clenched. Why should they start caring about the age difference now? They hadn’t cared before, hadn’t cared when they were happy together. 

“And… I’m barely of age, you’re only sixteen…We probably aren’t mature enough for a proper relationship anyway…” He trailed off, voice breaking.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, face crumpled as he looked down at him. “I thought… What we had…You don’t think it was…”

“Fuck,” Louis whispered. “Of course I do, you always knew that. Just give me a reason that will convince me we’re better off like this, that will make me want you a little less, because I can’t find any,” he sobbed. “I don’t want this, I don’t want to be anything less than we are now, but we have to, we have to want that. We don’t have any other choice.”

Harry lay his cheek on the crown of Louis’s head, tucked him beneath his chin, and closed his eyes. 

“We can still be there for each other, right?” he whispered. “We’re still friends.”

“Of course we are,” Louis murmured. “I’d never let you alone. You’re so important to me, you know that.”

“You are too,” Harry said, letting his lips graze Louis’s cheek. “And if we ever retire, or if our contract changes…” The unspoken proposition hung in the hair, and Louis felt his stomach twist slightly.

“We’ll see,” he finally murmured. “For now, I’ll take care of you, okay? Friends.”

“Best friends,” Harry echoed. “Best friends.”

“Hey,” Louis whispered, cupping Harry’s cheek and turning to look up at him. “We’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, face certain. “Okay.”

When Harry fell asleep, head drooping onto Louis’s shoulder, Louis crawled out of his arms and into the other bed. 

 

❡❡❡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you guys heard Ed's new song 'Friends' yet  
> If you have I am sorry and are you okay because I'm not


	30. Spark

“Wake! Up!”

Louis’ head hurt as many noises rang through the little hotel room, the first being the sound of a creaky door hitting the wall, the second being the chime of curtain rings sliding from the window, and the third being the screech of two obnoxious voices as they hollered in Harry and Louis’ ears.

“Oh, Jesus,” he moaned, rolling over and stuffing his pillow over his eyes. It was knocked out of his hand straight away as something scrawny, pale, and much too wired slammed him into the mattress, giggling loudly into his face and fogging Louis’ nose with morning breath. “Niall Horan,” Louis growled, voice raspy with sleep, “I may not always be a man of my word but I swear on my life that you will _not_ live to see the spring.”

“Harry,” Zayn whined from across the room as he tackled the sleepy boy in the bed, and as the events of last night were recalled Louis felt as if ice was sinking into his stomach. His face paled as he lay back against the pillow, forgetting Niall for a moment. He wished he and Zayn would leave, at least for the morning, while he and Harry… while he and Harry…

Fuck, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He just wanted to be alone for a little while, wanted to think about this, to sulk and to mope together with no one but the other involved. _There’s nothing to think about,_ he reminded himself. The sooner the two of them returned to normal, the better. Then again, what on earth was normal when it came to the he and Harry?

“Wakey, wakey, love birds!” Zayn cooed, smacking Harry repeatedly on the cheek with obnoxiously loud kisses, and a second bucket of ice seemed to run down his back when he remembered that no one, not Simon, not Harry, not Louis, had told the other three boys about the clause in the contract. It wasn’t something Louis wanted to do anytime soon, either. He was suddenly feeling quite ill. Across the room, Harry was silent.

“Why? Aren’t? You? Waking? Up!” Niall screeched, jumping up and down on Louis’ bed, the grin of a five-year-old plastered across his face as he narrowly missed Louis’ chest with his feet. “It’s the first day of tour rehearsals! Get your lazy arses out of bed!”

“Niall, stop, you’re gonna hurt him,” Harry finally sighed as he rose, rumpled, and Louis very pointedly focused his gaze on the wall opposite. Sleepy, soft Harry wasn’t something he could deal with now, not anymore. He wondered if he’d wriggled out of his tee shirt in his sleep like he did on warm nights, wondered if the mark of the pillow was still printed in his cheek. He wouldn’t find out, he decided firmly as he ducked under Niall’s arm and into the bathroom.

“We’re up, happy?” he called over his shoulder, and Niall whooped loudly, spinning out of the room and shouting for Zayn to follow. The older boy lingered for a moment before striding out the door.

“Sleep okay?” Zayn asked, gentle, and Harry nodded quickly, eyes still bleary as he rubbed them with milky knuckles, and Louis mumbled around his toothbrush. They heard Niall shriek from the corridor once more, and Zayn jogged after him with a groan.

The silence he left behind wasn’t uncomfortable. It never had been, between the two of them, and the sound of bristles in Louis’ mouth and the sound of a zipper on Harry’s suitcase left him feeling sleepy and familiar. Something was writhing low and tight in Louis’ stomach, however, that had him anticipating the strangeness he knew would come. He didn’t want this, their dictated friendship, to be something he was afraid of, though. He wanted this to feel good, to feel right – as right as it possibly could, under the circumstances.

He spat his toothpaste into the basin and, for the sake of keeping busy, ran Harry’s comb through his hair, yanking out the stray knots and having it lie flat on his head. When he left the bathroom again, the snakes in his belly wiggling just a little more agitatedly, Harry’d slunk back beneath the covers, fully dressed but sleeping once again, curls dangling in his eyes and whirring with every soft breath. Louis stood motionless in the door. Ordinarily, he’d slide into bed beside him, curling against Harry’s chest and whining that his hands were cold; it was what he wanted to do now. However…

“Hey,” he said, voice slightly higher than it might have been normally, and he wondered how easily he’d be able to wake him up again without touching him. “Haz?”

“Hmm,” Harry hummed, eyes shut tight, and Louis grinned briefly before ducking his head.

“Harry, wake up. We’ve got rehearsals.” He said, louder, now, and Harry reluctantly rolled onto his back.

“Yeah,” he sighed, voice still rough and low. Louis made a show of loudly zipping his jacket, the writhing something in his stomach only growing more uncomfortable. He squeezed his eyes shut; he needed to get out, needed to clear his head.

“I’m just gonna,” he began, voice cracking, just as Harry said, “Yeah,” again, cheeks bright. “I mean,” Louis coughed. “I’m gonna go make sure Ni—Liam’s up,” he muttered, and when Harry didn’t reply, he slid his phone into his pocket and hurried out of the room. He didn’t wait to state or hear the obvious; that Niall and Zayn had probably woken him up already, if his alarm hadn’t gone off, or that Liam was one of the first to rise each morning anyway. He pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers and started for the coffee lounge in the lobby.

This was everything he’d been worried about, he realised as he broodingly slid teabags into a cup. He’d wanted to avoid this, the awkwardness of breaking off what had been such a genuine relationship. He’d thought that, maybe because they’d been such good friends before getting together, that this would be easy, but then again, had they ever been friends in the first place? From the moment Louis had laid eyes on Harry, younger and more naïve as they tripped through the competition, he’d had a very odd feeling about him, about what their relationship would become. At the time, he hadn’t been able to identify it, but he’d always felt that even in the beginning, his supposed _friendship_ with Harry had been poles apart from those with Zayn, with Niall, with Liam. _Fuck_ , he thought as he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, teeth clenched. How were they ever going to do this?

“C’mon, Lou!” Niall startled him as he bound through the lobby, followed by the other three. “We’re gonna be late!” And he grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the front doors, where a van similar to the ones used on the X Factor waited outside.

By the time the five of them, followed by a pair of unfamiliar security guards, arrived at Wembley Arena, Harry and Louis had yet to exchange a word, and the other boys were beginning to grow as uncomfortable as they were. They were used to seeing the two them in one another’s laps on long car rides, whispering and giggling and being all too obnoxious, but this stiff and deliberate silence was much more bothersome, it seemed. When the doors were opened and the five of them piled out, much quieter than they had been when the ride began, the group separated and Niall, Harry, and Liam headed towards the buffet for a small breakfast. Louis, stomach rumbling, was about to follow when Zayn touched his elbow and beckoned him towards their designated rehearsal studio.

“Boys!” Some of the X Factor staff, Savan, Greg, and a couple of the dance coaches included, shouted with delight as the two of them entered, and Louis couldn’t help but smile as Savan clapped him on the back and Greg shot him a grin. “Ready to get down to business? Start touring the country?” Despite everything going on, Louis felt something nervous and exciting spark in his chest, and he brightened, eyes wide.

“Absolutely,” he smiled, and Savan playfully flicked the burnt ash of his cigarette onto Louis’ shoulder as he left the room for a cup of coffee.

“Lou,” Zayn asked, quickly speaking before Louis could do anything but gape after Savan, ash crumbling from his shirt. Louis’ eyes narrowed furiously before he turned to Zayn, lips pouting. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“What?” Louis said warily, suddenly defensive, and Zayn’s forehead wrinkled as he ducked to peer into Louis’ sulking face.

“Did something happen between you and Harry over the break?” he asked. “Lou, look at me,” he added, frustrated, and Louis scowled, only glaring more firmly at the floor.

“Why do you say that?” he muttered, and Zayn’s mouth twitched.

“Oh, I dunno,” he sighed, “Maybe because you two haven’t spoken a word since we got to London? Maybe because the tension in the car was penetrable only by knife?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Zaynie,” Louis teased him, blinking pompously as he tapped him on the nose, and Zayn rolled his eyes.

“Are you saying there’s nothing wrong? Nothing going on between the two of you?” he asked sceptically. “This may be a good time to remind you that you’re a godawful liar,” he added smartly, and Louis made a horrific face, causing Zayn to smile all the same.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been an extra on _many_ television shows,” Louis snapped, nose in the air and arms folded, "My acting skills are incomprehensibly superb."  Zayn sighed, wondering if he’d have to deal with _this_ Louis all day, the sassy, high-maintenance Louis.

“Stop changing the subject, Louis,” He said with a wry smile, and Louis cocked an eyebrow. “How are you to know I’m changing the subject intentionally? Maybe you’re just a horrible conversationalist. Did you think about that, love?” he sang, and Zayn groaned, chuckling as he buried his face in his hands.

“What’s funny?” Liam smiled as he and the other two strolled into the room, hands full of croissants and, in Harry’s case, three small apples. The tallest of the three ducked his head, looking suddenly small as he caught Louis’ eye and shrunk back towards the corner of the room. The grin seemed to slide off of Louis’ face, and Zayn frowned, watching the two of them suspiciously.

“Can we talk later?” he murmured in Louis’ ear, and Louis pouted, nodding after a long moment. Zayn clapped him on the shoulder and scuttled toward Harry to snag one of his apples. Louis couldn’t help but smile when he heard the younger boy yelp in protest. Turning, he scooped the apple out of Zayn’s hand and tossed it up into the air with a smirk.

 

 

❡❡❡

 

Rehearsing for the tour was remarkably easier than rehearsing for the lives shows had been. Notably, they only had one new song to learn and choreograph, a single they’d recorded before the show ended, and the other four were songs they’d already performed on the X Factor. Instead of learning a new song every week, they were now reviewing five of those songs over the course of one month.

“You’ll be performing in front of new audiences,” Simon emphasized in between rehearsals of Kids in America and Forever Young. “We want to focus on presentation rather than on originality. There isn’t any point in choreographing new routines and learning new songs when they’re coming to experience what they wanted to see on the show. We can work on new material when you begin recording albums.” At this, each boy prickled with anticipation, and Simon smiled slightly.

“This tour is very important in how you’ll begin your careers. I need you all to concentrate, to stay focused,” he added, and at this, his eyes narrowed on Louis. Louis squirmed uncomfortably, and he heard Harry giggle slightly from his spot on stage, a few yards away. When Louis turned, Harry tucked his chin into his chest, pinks flushed. “Take a break,” Simon sighed, gazing suspiciously between the two of them. “You’ve half an hour. I don’t care where you go, as long as you’re back on this very spot at…” he eyed his watch, “One twenty-eight. Chop-chop.”

Louis turned, back to the boys, and started for the wings, his throat suddenly tight. He felt something urgent burning in the back of his head, something he needed to do. He knew what it was; he just didn’t know how to do it.

“Lou!” Niall hollered to him from centre stage, and Louis looked up, anxious. “We’re going to Malar. Do you want to come?”

“That’s okay,” he called, “I’ll just get something from the buffet.” He hesitated. “Who…who all is going?” Niall’s face brightened.

“Me, Liam, Zayn, Aiden, and Cher. Can’t find Haz,” he added with a shrug, as if Louis had asked directly. “But if you’re staying, we’ll bring you back some take-away!” Before Louis could protest, he’d bounced down the steps and out the back door, following Aiden’s sleek shoes into the rain. Turning back toward the wings, Louis slung his back over his shoulder. The apple Louis had taken from Zayn this morning was still sitting at the bottom. He hadn’t had the chance to toss it.

He wandered nervously from the wings and through the corridors, knowing his way around after months of rehearsals and performances. When he found the studio One Direction had been assigned, he knocked quietly on the closed door, knowing who he’d find inside.

“Come in,” he heard Harry’s voice, raw, and Louis swallowed, wondering if he’d been crying. When Harry turned, however, his eyes were dry, though his cheeks were pale. Louis didn’t speak as he reached into his bag, fingers wrapping around the apple, and he dropped it gently into Harry’s hand.

“Got it back,” He said with a shrug, voice small.

“M’not hungry,” Harry whispered, face wary as he looked down at Louis, as if he didn’t know what to expect.

“I know,” Louis mumbled. “Just didn’t feel like carrying it around anymore.” Harry smiled at this, long lips turning, and Louis felt his stomach writhe before he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. Harry hugged him close at first, melting into the familiar feeling, until the ice that Louis had experienced that morning dropped into his stomach, and he went stiff.

“Lou,” he muttered, voice riddled with doubt. “Are… what are you…” Was he misinterpreting the events of last night? Had Louis changed his mind, decided to defy the contract?

“I dunno,” Louis groaned into his shirt, and Harry seemed to deflate against his chest. Louis’ stomach rolled. “C’mere, I just—” and he rested his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. He smelled like Harry, like clean linen and hot sandalwood, like something dry and rich and soft, and he felt so warm, so comfortable, like he was in a safe place. He was. Harry was silent, eyes wide with apprehension, but he tucked Louis into his arms all the same, chin coming to cup the crown of his head. “You’ve been avoiding me,” Louis murmured around the cotton of his front, and Harry’s grip tightened, gentle and afraid.

“So’ve you,” he whispered, and Louis squeezed his eyes shut tight, nuzzling into his chest.

“I know,” He sighed. He felt Harry do the same, shoulders rising and falling. “I thought we were best friends.”

“We are,” Harry said, voice low and sullen. “Of course we are.”

“Best friends don’t ignore each other,” Louis pointed out, leaning back to look Harry in the face, his fingers still curled around his waist.

“Takes two to tango, love,” Harry said softly, and the two of them were quiet, looking back at one another and wondering, perhaps, how things had evolved like this. “I don’t want to ignore you,” he added, suddenly sounding so young, so very small, and the thing writhed in Louis’ stomach again, sickening and uncomfortable.

“I don’t want you to either,” Louis said blankly. “I—you _can’t_ ,” he added, and he realised with embarrassment that he was beginning to whine, growing needy and childish. Harry’s eyes only softened. “I can’t… I need to have you,” he said frustratedly. “If not as a partner, then as my mate. I need to know you’re there. I need to know I can talk to you about anything, I need to know I can come to you when I need a cuddle, I need to know I can steal your crisps when you aren’t looking, I need to know I can look at you and laugh when I tell a funny joke.” Harry paused, cheeks flushed, and Louis wondered if he’d said something wrong, something that would cause him to crawl back into his shell and hide from him. Until—

“Who says you ever tell funny jokes?”

Louis blinked for a long moment before he rolled his eyes, slumping in Harry’s arms. “You’re a little shit,” He grumbled, stifling a grin as he poked him in the side, and Harry giggled, eyes hesitant but finally brightening as he reluctantly pushed Louis’ hand away.

“I don’t want things to be weird like this, between us,” he said, the laughter dying form his throat as he looked down at him, lips pursed, and Louis nodded.

“Don’t ignore me,” He mumbled again, snuggling back into Harry’s arms. “I don’t like it.”

“Okay,” Harry said, gentle, his hands still cupping Louis’ waist. “We’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” Louis repeated, because friends could hug like this. Zayn and Liam hugged like this. Niall cuddled with all four of them. They could do this. They could be close; they could love each other like friends. They could do this. “If you don’t want that apple,” he said slowly, drawing back to peer into Harry’s bag. “I didn’t get breakfast.” Harry laughed, that loud, happy bark that let Louis know he was okay. _We're_ _okay._

“Be my guest,” he grinned, and Louis finally smiled, nuzzling into Harry’s shoulder one more time before he bent to fetch the fruit from the bundles of sunglasses and sweaters lying in the satchel, and he nicked Harry’s Mars Bar for good measure.

Louis pretended not to notice that one of the jumpers was his.

 

❡❡❡

 

By the end of the first week of rehearsals, Harry had learned three things.

The first was that sleeping in meant finding your own ride to the studio. He, Niall and Louis had had to learn that lesson the hard way on Wednesday morning, after a long marathon of The Fades that kept them both up in fear of vengeful ghosts slitting their throats in the night). Tired and shaken, they’d had to call for a cab after using Liam’s room key to “borrow” a few notes from his wallet, and they showed up to a Simon that was much, much more terrifying than anything they’d watched on television.

The second was that rehearsing for a tour was a bit boring when compared to rehearsing for the show. Practise consisted of going through the same five dance routines dozens of times a day, rather than learning a different regimen every week. He did notice, however, that their performances were much better than they had been on the show when they were working much harder and more often on them. It didn’t change the fact that rehearsing the songs was duller than an old butter knife. 

The third was that he could not hold his breath long enough to sing the second verse of the new song. 

When recording the single during the show, things had gone quite smoothly. Savan had instructed that the lads split their solos into measures, ensuring them that the sound engineers would integrate the separate recordings into the entire composition. Harry had never had to sing the song live without a break, and now that he had tried, he was realising very quickly that there was a problem. 

“Again,” Simon sighed, waving to the sound booth, and as if they were expecting it, the technicians rewound the track to the beginning of Harry’s second solo. Harry shook himself, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a long moment before he blinked up at the hot lights, nodding. Simon brought his hand down and the music began. “Bring us in, Niall,” he called, and Niall raised his microphone and sang the last line of his verse. 

“Sooner or later, we all will be gone; why don’t they stay young?” 

“Deep breath,” Simon reminded Harry sharply as his cue approached, and Harry furrowed his brow, letting the air drop into his diaphragm before opening his mouth. 

“It’s hard to get old without a cause, I don’t want to perish like a fading horse. Youth is like diamonds in the sun, and diamonds…” he felt his jaw lock, his chest tightening as he ran out of air, and Simon sighed, rubbing his temples with his forefingers before motioning to the sound booth, and the track died. 

“I don’t understand the problem,” he said sternly as he walked up the stage steps to stand before Harry. “You’ve held much longer notes before; this line isn’t particularly long at all. Why can’t you finish the verse?” Harry felt himself beginning to shrink in Simon’s shadow, the back of his neck breaking in a thin sweat as he knew he wasn’t fulfilling expectations, wasn’t doing it right. 

“I…” he breathed, throat very dry from so much repetition and from the nerves working their way up his chest. “I don’t know, I just…Every time I-” 

“Simon, we’ve never sung this live before,” Louis shot defensively, “He’s not used to singing this verse straight through.” Harry sent him a fleeting glance, thankful and panicky, and Louis pursed his lips as if to say, _Relax, you’re doing great._ He felt ashamed that Louis would have to defend him in the first place, ashamed that Liam and Niall singing much longer solos without a hitch, ashamed that he, signed to a record contract with four other boys and sharing a massive load of responsibility, wasn’t doing his part. 

“You’ve had just a long to practise this song as you had to practise the others,” Simon snapped, and Louis scowled, retreating. “One of your solos in _Torn_ was a measure longer, and you never had any difficulty,” He continued, eying Harry with a frightening frown, and Harry suddenly wanted nothing more than to melt through the floor. 

“I…” he said again. He didn’t know how to explain himself; he didn’t know why he couldn’t sing the verse all the way through, didn’t know why his voice was betraying him now, in one of his easiest solos. 

“Jesus, Si, he’s not doing it on purpose,” Niall said helplessly. 

“It doesn’t matter, the fact that he’s missing the solo at all is not something we can deal with,” Simon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Take it from the top!” he hollered back to the sound booth, and the slow beat of the track began to echo throughout the arena. “Focus,” he added to Harry, clapping his hands together, and Harry nodded. Something about the nerves in his belly, however, told him he wasn’t going to be any more successful after being told off by Simon Cowell. 

“Let’s dance in style,” Liam began, and Harry noticed that it was not only he that was unnerved by his tricky verse, but all five of them. Liam’s eyes were round and concerned as he sang carefully into the microphone, and Zayn, Niall, and Louis seemed wary and antsy. Harry felt his heart slowly sinking further and further into his stomach with every measure. 

“It’s hard to get old without a cause,” he began again once Niall had wrapped up his solo, and he was relieved to hear that his voice was strong here, rich. Maybe this would be okay, maybe this would be the round he got it. “I don’t wanna perish like a fading horse,” he continued, but he could feel his chest tightening, the air in his lungs depleting. His face paled. “Youth is like… diamonds—shit,” he muttered, and he felt shame begin to burn hot from his toes, working its way up to his cheeks. 

“Keep going,” he heard Simon call irately, glaring up at Harry, and Harry shut his eyes before he shakily entered the chorus. Somehow, his voice wasn’t quite heard over the others’. 

 

❡❡❡

 

“You’re doing great,” Louis encouraged him hours later in the confines of their hotel room, when night had fallen and Harry had predicted with an embarrassing amount of hysteria that he was going to be band’s downfall. “Everyone has trouble with songs sometimes. Remember when I couldn’t sing my line on week seven? Hell, remember my _audition_?” 

“It’s different,” Harry moaned into his pillow, spread-eagle on his stomach across the bed with his curls flopping every which way with all the time he’d run his hands through them. “You could sing a B flat and still sound like an angel. I can’t sing this song for shit.” 

“Yes, you can,” Louis groaned, growing tired of saying the same thing over and over. “Simon, also known as the Devil’s Spawn, has simply sucked the confidence out of you with his witchcraft, something he has done to me _many_ a time,” he said dramatically, and Harry sighed, the breath sounding odd as it was muffled by the pillow. “Harold. Sit up.” 

Harry lay still for a moment before he raised his head, the pillow printed into his face and leaving his cheeks red and hair disheveled. Louis averted his gaze. “You’re letting such a teeny, tiny thing shake you up when you’ve accomplished thousands of other things that are so much more important,” Louis said, and Harry blinked, eyes round and morose. 

“This _is_ important,” he mumbled glumly. “Simon’s said that if I fuck this up, I’d be wrecking the song for the whole band.” 

“That was Satan speaking,” Louis reminded him, and a corner of Harry’s mouth lifted slightly. “You know what he was doing, H. He’s trying to pressure you into getting it right – something that confuses me, to be honest, because after working with you for so long you’d think he’d realise by now that scaring you doesn’t work.” He added thoughtfully. “It works on Liam,” he pondered, tapping his chin. “And dogs. Dogs get scared. Especially puppies.” 

Harry eyed Louis as he folded his legs beneath him, humming quietly to himself as his mind ran. He’d learned a fourth thing that week. It had been six days since he’d met with Simon and heard of the clause that separated him and Louis, and he’d learned just how complicated it was to be his friend after going through such an ardent relationship together. 

It had been especially difficult that first day, the day they’d begun rehearsals and they’d given one another the silent treatment. It had been the first time that the two of them hadn’t walked to and from practise together, that they hadn’t exchanged smiles and made faces at one another from across the stage, that he had looked at Louis and known that he wouldn’t look back, that they weren’t speaking. He’d been relieved when he’d felt his arms around him, simply to feel such a familiar gesture again, to know his Louis was still there. It had been a bit strange trying to rebuild their friendship once more, but the two of them had always clicked so easily that the two found themselves slipping back into old routines fairly quickly – well, to some degree. 

He _hated_ that he couldn’t kiss him, hated that he couldn’t tuck him into his chest in the dead of night and tangle their legs together, hated that there was this invisible line they knew they couldn’t cross again. Out of sheer habit, a habit that had been present and building for the past seven months, he always found himself wanting to crawl across the room and into Louis’ lap to snuggle into his chest, to press his lips all over his neck and jaw, and he would need to shut his eyes tight and remind himself that _No_ , that wasn’t okay anymore. 

When he was feeling lonely or cold, he’d think, _Go find Louis_ , and want to dive into one of his little jumpers or hoodies for the day, giddy with nothing but the knowledge that it was his. When something was bothering him that wouldn’t get off of his mind, he’d think, _Oh, Louis_ , and want to lose himself in his arms until there was nothing on his mind but how soft he was, how small against Harry’s chest. 

More than anything, at least besides going back to the way things were, he wanted to talk about it with Louis. But, he supposed that speaking of their feelings – particularly of Harry’s desire to kiss him senseless and to bundle the both of them up in blankets and pillows for the rest of eternity – would be very bad for the new friendship they were trying to maintain. He didn’t know that the other boy was having just as difficult a time with this as he was, didn’t know that earlier, Louis had told Zayn over lunch about a certain clause in the contract he hadn’t noticed before signing, that at least, to one more person, they were nothing more than friends. 

He wasn’t really satisfied with this, knowing there things he couldn’t do with his boy, but friendship was preferable to the brief period of silence they’d experienced that first day of rehearsals. Being able to talk to him, to goof around with him, to hug him was much better than pretending the other was not there. Still, as Louis sat on the edge of the bed, socked feet curled under his knees and little hands lost in the sleeves of his sweatshirt, he couldn’t help but feel that twang in his chest that taunted him with what he could no longer have. 

“Parrots?” Louis was mumbling, still lost in thought. “Parrots, do they scare? I’m sure you could coach one to sing, if they can talk. Like, mimicking, right? Right. Maybe a parrot could sing Robbie Williams or a Grease song. Can we get a parrot, Harry?” He snapped his fingers. “H, are you listening?” 

“What?” Harry asked stupidly, and Louis smiled briefly before it dropped from his face. 

“Nothing,” he said gently. “It’s late. We don’t want to sleep in again.” 

“You’re right,” Harry sighed. “Or Simon will come through on that promise to castrate us.” 

“ I think we could sue for sexual harassment,” Louis said seriously as he kicked his socks off and wiggled beneath the blankets of his bed. “Buy that Lego house we talked about.” 

“Definitely,” Harry rolled his eyes. “If we buy a house, it will most definitely not be made of children’s toys,” he added sternly, and Louis pouted, rolling over on his pillow to face him. 

“I wonder how much that would cost. House of Legos.” He blinked at Harry slowly. “If it’s fifty pounds for five hundred legos…” 

“Thirty if they’re second-hand,” Harry offered, and Louis nodded seriously. 

“How many do you think we’d need to build a house?” he asked, and Harry sighed, smiling slightly up at the ceiling as he closed his eyes. 

“Goodnight Lou.” 

“This is serious!” 

“Mm hmm,” he murmured. 

“Ought to buy you your own house, or summat,” Louis grumbled childishly from across the room. “And in exchange, you’d have to do my laundry for the rest of our lives.” 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled again, not quite listening as he drifted off to sleep. “Say goodnight to me.” 

“Why, so I’ll shut up?” Louis asked, mock-affronted, and Harry couldn’t quite find the energy to laugh. 

“Mmm, no," Harry murmured sleepily, "Just want to hear it...” Harry dozed off before he’d finished the sentence. Louis lay in bed for a long time after, hands curled beneath his cheek and eyes wide as he watched Harry’s eyelashes flutter up and down in his sleep. 

“Night,” he finally whispered, letting his own eyes drift shut. 

 

❡❡❡

 

“Youth is like diamonds in the sun, and… _fucking hell._ ” 

“Harry, calm down,” Ali, one of the vocal coaches, sighed for the fifth time as she squeezed his shoulder. “You need to relax, or you’ll never get the breath you need.” 

“There’s no point, I can’t do it,” Harry muttered, rubbing his face vigorously with his hands and clenching his jaw tight. Ali tugged his arms down, pinning them to his sides. 

“You’re giving up before you even try,” she chided him. “I know you can carry it longer than that without much effort, and you’re stopping at whichever note you please.” 

“ I’m not,” Harry pled, face anxious and worn as he peered up at her. “I’ve tried this measure so many times, and I’ve gotten it _once_. I’m never going to be able to finish.” 

“C’mon, pull yourself together,” she said gently. “You need to be composed, you need to be ready. I want you to sing it again—” Harry groaned, “—And I don’t want to hear you stop until you’re gasping for breath, okay? Don’t stop even if you know you can’t finish. Just keep going.” Harry, lips pursed, nodded, and the musician in the corner of the room began to play the opening chords to his solo on the piano. 

“It’s hard to get old without a cause, I don’t want to perish like a fading horse. Youth is like diamonds in the sun, and diamonds are…” He blinked wildly as the volume died in his mouth and his lips moved around silent words. Ali smiled encouragingly. 

“See, H, that’s the farthest you’ve gone! You need to pull through, make the commitment to what you’re singing.” 

“It didn’t sound any better than the others,” Harry muttered, face red with shame as he scowled at his shoes. 

“We’re working on quantity, not quality for the time being,” she said firmly. “Again. Don’t stop until you have to.” Harry tried again, his voice catching and fading in his throat once more, and Ali pursed her lips, frustrated. “You’re your own enemy here,” she insisted firmly, slapping her fingers into her palm. “You have everything you need to sing the verse! You know how to take the right breath and you know how to distribute the air throughout the measures. The only thing holding you back is confidence, Harry, you need confidence!” 

“I’m trying,” he sighed honestly, carding his hand through his hair once more, which was beginning to grow quite frizzy. “I don’t know how to… how to like…” 

“You know you can do it if you get over this silly scepticism,” she insisted. “Trust that you know how sing it and sing it well. You _do_ , Harry, you just need to follow through. Again.” Harry was getting quite sick of the words in his verse, particularly after the second hour of private coaching had come and gone and he still hadn’t made much progress. Once they’d finished the tour, he’d never listen to the song again. 

“How is it coming?” Savan entered the room a quarter past three. By then Harry was in a truly remarkable mood, mouth pouted and arms swinging at his sides like a five-year-old’s, and Ali was tearing her hair out. “Oh,” he added, taking in the two of them, and Ali sighed. 

“I’m gonna grap a cuppa. Can you work with him while I’m gone?” she quietly asked Savan, as if asking her husband to watch the baby for a moment. 

“It’s all right, go ahead and work with Liam and Niall and I’ll wrap up here,” he patted her on the back, and she nearly cried with relief as she darted out the door. “All right, little one, do you need your juice and crackers before naptime?” he turned to Harry, amused. 

“Stop,” Harry whined, and Savan grinned before nodding to the pianist, who began the accompaniment again. At the sound of the familiar chords, Harry wanted to dunk himself into the water cooler. “It’s hard to get old without a cause, I don’t want to perish like a fading horse. Youth is like diamonds in the sun, and diamonds…” he trailed off, teeth grinding as he glared up at one of the ceiling lights, and Savan snapped his fingers. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, incredulous. Harry turned, half hurt and half indignant.

“What do you mean? I’m trying my be—” 

“I know you are, but you’re trying it _wrong,_ ” Simon groaned, and Harry frowned. “You’ve got a perfectly good place to breath in the middle of the fifty-sixth measure, between horse and youth, and instead of using it to your advantage you’re trying to take the entire line in one go.” 

“Simon says he wants to me to sing it all the way through on a breath,” Harry mumbled, and Savan clicked his tongue against his teeth, hip popping. 

“Fuck Simon right now, okay? Run it through again, and I want you to breath in the middle of that measure.” Harry eyed him for a long moment before he grinned and looked back at the pianist, who began playing once more. 

“It’s hard to get old without a cause, I don’t want to perish like a fading horse,” he inhaled, “Youth is like diamonds in the sun, and diamonds are forever.” He blinked, surprised that the last few words had so much as left his mouth, and Savan nodded intently. 

“Keep going!” he encouraged him. “Don’t second guess yourself. You just sang it beautifully, didn’t you hear?” 

“I don’t know if Simon—” 

“I’m your coach right now. Simon is too intent on appearances and presentation right now to get you to do what you need to do. There’s no point in making the song sound good if you can’t even finish a verse.” Harry nodded, frowning anxiously at the floor. “This is how you’ll sing the song, okay? If Simon gives you any grief, send him to me.” Savan said firmly, and the corners of Harry’s mouth curled. 

“You think it’ll be okay?” He asked, and Savan gentled, something soft in his face that was not often seen. He’d come a long way in coaching Harry since meeting him the last July. 

“It’ll be fantastic,” he said lightly, clapping him on the shoulder. “ _You’re_ singing, after all.” Harry couldn’t help but grin, bowling into his side and ignoring Savan’s screeches of protest. “Assuming you make it to opening night before I annihilate the lot of you,” he added with a growl, and Harry only laughed, tongue between his teeth as he skirted from Savan’s smacking hand. “C’mon,” he sighed, motioning towards the piano, “From the top.” 

 

❡❡❡

 

Despite Savan’s instructions, Simon was disappointed that Harry had chosen not to attempt the verse in one go. Harry was delivering much smoother and cleaner solos during rehearsals, actually singing every word he was meant to, but it seemed it wasn’t the “vision” Simon had had when constructing the show. 

“I don’t like it,” he finally muttered after watching a run-down of the song the day before opening night. Harry felt himself withering on the spot, jaw locking, and suddenly he felt very vulnerable in the middle of the bright room, microphone limp in his hands. 

“Which do you like better, Simon?” Savan was sighing frustratedly, “Harry taking a breath in between the lines or not singing them at all?” Harry felt his stomach twist with shame, his face red. He tried hard not to listen, not to think as the two men quite openly discussed which of his performances was less horrific. He was a liability, something they needed to settle with. In the band’s debut across the country, he was bringing them down, and no one was pretending otherwise. 

“No, Sav; the thing is, he’s perfectly capable of singing the verse without pause, he’s just not making it happen,” Simon argued. Harry kept his stare firmly on his feet; they didn’t need to talk about him like he wasn’t there. 

“Harry isn’t comfortable singing the verse like that,” Savan snapped. “Honestly, Si, they’re fresh off the show, this is their first tour, and you’re already pushing his limits?” 

“This isn’t boot camp, they aren’t here to be coddled,” Simon retorted, and Harry didn’t think he’d ever wanted to disappear as much as he did then. He was too embarrassed to do anything but keep his head down; he couldn’t even meet the boys’ eyes. 

“Simon, they aren’t experienced; you can’t expect them to be able to do whatever you want however you like on stage. He’s sixteen,” Savan said, and Harry only felt worse.   _He's young, he's inexperienced, he isn't competent..._  He wondered if he’d be able to leave the room without causing too much of a stir. All he wanted to do was be alone, have all these eyes off of him, to not have to listen to these awful things, spoken as if he were a daft toddler who didn’t know any better. He felt Louis’ gaze hot on the back of his neck. 

“If I wanted to baby them, they wouldn’t be here,” Simon said. “They’ve had to work very hard to get here, and they definitely won’t stop now. This is business, and if they want to take it easy and sink half-lines at their leisures, they can get the hell out.” His heart dropped into his stomach. Was this what Simon was saying? If he couldn’t sing the song, he’d be booted from the band? He knew when he signed the contract that this wouldn’t be all fun and games, but somehow this didn’t seem fair. 

“You’re asking a lot of Harry right now,” Savan sighed, face lined with exasperation. “Have you tried to sing the verse yourself? Have you asked any of the other boys to try and sing it? You need some perspective, here.” 

“He’s sung it in one go before,” Simon reminded him, and Savan ran his hands through his hair. 

“ Twice, Si! In one month,” he said. 

“Perhaps it’s an issue of laziness, then,” Simon snapped, “If Harry isn’t willing to put forth the effort, then—” 

“ _Shut up_!” Someone shouted, and everyone seemed to freeze, eying Savan and wondering where this impossible bravery had come from. But it hadn’t been Savan that had shouted. 

“Shut up,” Louis said again, fists at his side as he glared at his mentor. Harry’s eyes widened; Louis needed to stop talking _now_ , or he’d get into very big trouble. No one had ever talked back to Simon before - at least, not that Harry could ever remember. 

“What did you just—” Simon began, eyes narrowed, but Louis interrupted him again. 

“You haven’t _been_ with him these weeks, Simon! You haven’t heard him practising the verse in the hotel room for hours after rehearsals have ended, you haven’t listened to him worry about how he’ll disappoint you, how he’ll disappoint the fans if he doesn’t perform the song the way you want him to,” he raged. “You haven’t a single clue how hard he’s been working, and instead of working with his talent you’re asking him to sing something that no one can fucking sing, and here you are, insulting him, telling him that if he can’t sing the bloody verse, he’s sacked. Shut up.” 

“Lou, stop, you don’t need—” 

“Oh, don’t stop him there, Harry,” Simon said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring back at Louis. “Perhaps there are other things he’d like to get off his chest. Well, Louis, do have anything else to say about how I should do my job?” Louis didn’t cower, didn’t begin apologising. He simply glowered, hands still clenched furiously at his sides as he looked up at Simon. 

“That was it, actually,” he said, snarky, and Harry winced. _Oh, Lou…_ He couldn’t imagine the trouble he’d just made for himself, and over _him,_ over the fact that he couldn’t sing a stupid verse like he was told… 

“I want to see you in my office in five minutes,” Simon said quietly, and there was something seething in his voice that Harry had never heard before. His heart beat fast, terrified of what Louis had just gotten himself into. “Savan, I want you to wrap up here. Oh, and Harry?” he began, and he felt ice drop into his stomach. “Sing the verse however the hell you want, because apparently you lot don’t answer to anyone.”  Harry felt vaguely like throwing up. Louis stood on the spot, fuming for a long moment, before he ducked out of the door after Simon, jaw clenched. He didn’t look at Harry. 

A heavy, chilly silence was left in their wakes, draping over the other four boys like humid heat, until Savan rolled his eyes and motioned to the pianist in the corner of the studio. 

“What—” Liam whispered, face pale as he stood in line, and Zayn sent him a shaken glance from the other side of the floor. “Sav, I think—” 

“What?” Savan asked, turning, “He didn’t scare you, did he?” The four gaped up at him, hunched and feeling very small after the argument. Simon sighed, pursing his lips. “He’s just having another hissy fit, he’ll get over it.” 

“Are you serious?” Niall asked, incredulous, and Savan eyed them for long moment, understanding that this was the first time they’d come across a scary Simon. 

“Listen, Simon’s got a lot of stress on his shoulders right now. His artists are pretty low on the charts and he’s desperate to make a comeback. He’s got a lot of faith in you,” he said, looking deliberately at Harry. “He’s anxious for this to be perfect. He just doesn’t understand that with a brand new band of teenage boys, perfection isn’t something to strive for just yet. You’re doing great,” he coaches them gently. “And Harry, you’re going sound beautiful when you sing your verse tomorrow night. Simon knows that. Okay?” he waited for each of the boys to nod timidly back at him before he clapped his hands again. “From the top. Harry, _breathe_.” 

After rehearsing their setlist for half an hour, the four finally left the studio, Niall, Zayn, and Liam eager to head back to the hotel and get some well-deserved sleep. Harry, however, was anxious to find Louis, to hear of what Simon had said to him in his office. 

“He’s okay,” Zayn said kindly, squeezing his shoulder. “You heard Savan, this happens. He wouldn’t sack Louis when he’s got so much riding on this, would he?” Harry bit his lip as Zayn followed the other two towards the SVU and they started back to the hotel. He hung back by the staircase, wondering if Louis was still with Simon or if he’d left before the rest of the band. 

Finally, he saw him round the bend of railings, wearing a scour scowl but looking significantly less angry, and Harry jumped to his feet. 

“Lou,” he said, and Louis looked down, blinking before he sighed and trod down the stairs. 

“Hi,” he said warily. “How were rehearsals?” 

“Don’t give me that,” Harry said anxiously. “What happened up there?” 

“It wasn’t anything horrible, you can calm down,” Louis smiled, and his one of his hands twitched before he pushed them both into his pockets and started for the door. “Let’s catch a car.” 

“Louis,” Harry whined, and they hopped quickly into the back seat of a van as it began to pull out of the carpark. Louis shook his head, smiling slightly. 

“He told me he understood where I was coming from and that he hadn’t known how hard you’d been working after hours,” he said, and Harry sighed, relief quenching his middle. “But he also said that he was still my boss and that I couldn’t talk to him that way. He… He said I—we—need to remember that we’re working for other people.” 

“What do you—oh,” Harry breathed. “But…” Louis silenced him with a look, eyes wide as he glanced towards the security guards in the front seat. Harry looked down into his lap. “Did…” he cleared his throat, and though it was clear Louis had gotten off the hook, something else had begun to curl unpleasantly in his stomach. “Did you, you know, come off well, then?” 

“Yeah,” Louis said off-handedly. “Agreed we’d try and work together a little more, compromise with one another. I think it all worked out well. Now he knows where I’m coming from.” “And you, him,” Harry added, and Louis nodded, mouth twisting. 

“Lou,” he began softly. “You could have gotten in a lot of trouble. You didn’t need to do that.” Louis was quiet, finally looking Harry in the eye. 

“Course I did,” he said, gentle. “The way he’s been treating you lately… It was only a matter of time. Besides, I could see the others riling up as well, and I don’t think baby Liam is brave enough to face a scolding from Simon.” He smiled wryly.

“I just… Thanks,” Harry muttered. “Thanks for sticking up for me.” 

“Yeah,” Louis said, trying very hard to sound casual. “It’s you and me, innit? It’s what we do.” 

“Yeah,” Harry echoed, smiling slightly. “Yeah. I’m glad.” Partly. 

“Me too.” Also partly. 

They blinked uncertainly at one another for a long moment before Louis sighed, grinning, and tucked Harry under his arm. 

“Fuck you, c’mere,” he said, and Harry beamed, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You’re a good singer, Harry. Don’t let an arsed Simon try and tell you otherwise.” 

“Okay,” Harry mumbled into his shirt. 

“You’re going to sing beautifully tomorrow,” Louis added. 

Harry was quiet. 

 

❡❡❡

 

“Curtain in ten.” 

“Louis, sit still,” a woman smiled, rolling her eyes as she ran a brush through his carefully styled hair, and Louis sighed, shifting in his seat. The butterflies in his tummy were fluttering quite horribly. The woman, someone who happened to be called Lou, was the boys’ new stylists, and would apparently be sticking around for quite a long time. Luckily she seemed to be very nice, and Louis liked her. 

“Lou,” Louis whined as she frowned before coating another strand of his hair in mousse, and she tisked him gently. 

“Just another moment, love,” she said, dotting his nose with a dense powder. “Winter’s made you white as snow; I’ve got to bronze you up a bit.” 

“Not as white as Niall,” Louis grinned, and Lou chuckled, clapping him on the back. 

“All right. You’re good to go.” 

“Am I the last?” Louis asked, and Lou shook her head. 

“No, just got Liam left. Will you fetch him for me?” She asked, and Louis nodded, hopping down onto the floor and darting down the dark corridor, hidden behind the wings. He caught sight of Harry, Liam, and Zayn huddled near the water cool, Harry’s head in his hands and Zayn’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Li, Lou’s looking for you,” Louis called, and Liam grinned anxiously down at him before hurrying back toward the dressing room. Zayn followed, squeezing Harry’s arm once and muttering about his hair as he went. “Hi,” he added, and Harry sent him a shaky smile, face white. Lou had clearly gotten to him; his curls were tamer, brighter under the careful light of the wings, and there was something soft and the colour of peaches painted across his mouth. “Big night, innit?” Louis asked quietly, and Harry only swallowed, nodding dully. 

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Yeah.” He looked down at Louis, eyes wide, and let his gaze drift back toward the ground. “Bit crazy. Touring England.” 

“You’re telling me,” Louis smiled, voice quiet as he fed him small talk. He didn’t miss the white of Harry’s knuckles or the quick, frenzied fluttering of his eyelashes. He needed to calm down, needed to relax. “Not so different from the show, though, if you think about it.” Harry blinked, and Louis knew he saw straight through him. “I suppose not,” Harry murmured, and Louis sighed. “You look really nice,” he finally said, voice small, and he didn’t need to look up to know Harry must be blushing. His toes had begun to wriggle in his boots, shy and anxious, and a smile tugged at Louis’ mouth. 

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled. “And you, you look…” he sighed, and Louis’ throat tightened. “Oh, Lou.” Louis looked up, throat suddenly tight, and he opened his mouth to reply, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say. 

“Louis!” someone squawked, and the two of them jumped, turning to see someone small and blonde bound down the long corridor. It was Niall, and he seemed to be the only one of them who wasn’t bubbling with nerves. In fact, he looked positively thrilled to be here. Zayn came padding behind him, having finished adjusting his microphone. “Looking sharp, mate!” 

“Thanks, Ni, you too,” Louis smiled, stomach squirming, and Niall hummed happily to himself while Zayn caught up. “Where’s Li? Has he finished with Lou?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn nodded. “He’s just getting his mic.” 

“Boys, places!” one of the engineers hissed as he ducked behind a curtain. Louis watched as what little colour remained flooded from Harry’s face. 

“Hey,” He began gently, hand on his elbow, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight, pulse fluttering in his wrists and neck. He wasn’t feeling the lighthearted nerves that came with meeting an admired celebrity or experiencing a first kiss. These were hot, uncomfortable and writhing low in the pit of his stomach; the kind that had his brow damp with perspiration and his chest aching with the punch of his heart against his ribcage, over and over. He supposed he might be sick. 

“Christ, don’t tell me you’re _nervous_ ,” Niall said, incredulous, and Louis shot him a pointed look. “Haz, have you bloody _heard_ yourself? You’re going to nail it!” Harry only shook his head, breath falling a little quicker from his mouth. 

“He’s right,” Zayn offered, a little more kindly than Niall had done, “You’ve always done so well during performances, and tonight isn’t an exception, okay?” It didn’t seem that Harry could hear them. His teeth dug into his lower lip, turning the soft pink white. 

“Calm down,” Louis said gently. “You’ll be okay, yeah? Worrying your head won’t do you any good, and you know it.” 

“I can’t,” Harry whispered, and Louis watched as his chest began to heave, up and down, up and down, breaths quick and shallow. “I can’t… I’m gonna fuck up, I always fuck up this song, I…” 

“Harry,” Niall hollered, grabbing him fiercely by the shoulders. “You’re a fucking star, okay? Half those girls out there would still adore you if you committed murder! Just chill, it’ll be fine!” And with that, he kissed Harry loudly on the cheek and whizzed down the hallway. Harry’s eyes only widened further, lips parting as his breaths quickened, up, down, up, down. Louis sighed, turning to Zayn, whose shoulders slumped as he nodded, blinking down at Louis before following Niall to the stage. 

“Hey,” Louis said again, stepping towards Harry and tugging him down onto the sofa. “Harry, look at me.” Harry only blinked, eyes darting around the room as his shuddery breaths fell, chest going up, down, up, down. “Haz. You’re not looking at me.” 

“I can’t—I—” 

“I believe you’re capable of making eye contact for a few seconds,” Louis rolled his eyes, and finally, Harry looked down at him, face white and scared, and Louis shifted forward. “Listen to me. You’ve done this so many times before, and you’ve always done perfectly, okay? You’ve never had trouble in front of an audience, and you’re not gonna let some monotonic, poorly written verse fuck that up for you.” 

“I’m not?” Harry asked wildly, and Louis bit back a chuckle, shaking his head. 

“No, you’re not. You are an incredible singer and you’re just nervous, yeah? You’re here for a reason, Harry,” he said gently. “You think Simon would just put anyone up there on that stage? You think he’d give this solo to just anybody?” Harry bit his lip, and Louis noticed his breathing begin to slow as he looked at him, absorbing every word. “He thinks you can handle this better than anyone else, right? He thinks you can sing this better than Liam, better than Niall, better than me, better than Zayn; he thinks you can sing this verse better than anyone else in the band. Don’t you remember what Savan said? He’s got faith in you, and he knows you’ll sing beautifully. If Simon fucking Cowell isn’t worried, then you shouldn’t be either, okay?” 

“I,” Harry whispered, swallowing tightly. “I’m just… I have so much trouble with this verse, Lou; I never get it right. What makes you think I’ll get it right now, in front of sixty thousand people? In front of a televised audience?” 

“Because I said so,” Louis growled, and suddenly, Harry was giggling, weak little chuckles coming from pale lips and cheeks white with anxiety, and Louis grinned triumphantly, straightening Harry’s collar. “You’ll be amazing, okay?” He said, ducking to peer into Harry’s face, and Harry smiled, just a crooked little twitch of his mouth. “I promise.” 

“You promise?” Harry asked childishly, and Louis nodded. 

“Come on. Let’s go get into position. This is gonna be perfect.” 

It wasn’t. 

Everything had seemed to be going so well. Harry had taken the bridge so beautifully, his voice rich, strong, low in his diaphragm as he sang into his microphone, and by the time the band had reached the chorus he was smiling, eyes darting proudly towards Louis every few seconds as if to say, _You were right, this is amazing_. Louis grinned, sending him a thumbs-up behind his back, and Harry beamed, giddy with his thrill of performing once more. _It’s great._

Niall was approaching the end of his verse, blue eyes shining as he carried his last note, and Harry, taking a nervous breath, opened his mouth to begin his line. 

“It’s hard to get old without a cause,” he began, and Louis pursed his lips as his voice cracked, only slightly, on the last word. It was so inaudible, he didn’t think anyone had quite noticed, however, and he nodded encouragingly as Harry continued, face paling slightly as he continued. “I don’t wanna perish like a fading horse; youth is like diamonds in the sun…” Louis waited for him to pause, waited for him to take that breath he’d need to get through the verse, but suddenly Harry was continuing, sliding from one word into the other without preamble, and his heart dropped. 

“And diamonds are…f-for…” Harry’s voice quavered, shaking much, much too obviously before he dropped the word completely, the air having died from his lips. Liam shot him an alarmed glance, and Louis caught Niall’s swallow as he peered around at the audience. Louis couldn’t look at Harry. He’d broken his promise. 

“Forever young,” Louis quickly began, striding to Harry’s side and slinging an arm around his shoulder, discretely nudging the microphone back up to his lips, and Harry, face white and blank, blinked once before following suit with the others, lips shaking over unsteady lyrics. 

For the rest of the song, Louis prayed the audience hadn’t noticed, singing loudly, sending Harry bright, false grins as if to pretend the stumble had never happened, but he never missed the dim expression on Harry’s face, that poorly-concealed disappointment. Finally, they said their goodnights, their thank-you’s, more quickly than they may have otherwise, and the five of them hurried off the stage. 

“Hey,” Louis began lowly, reaching for Harry’s shoulder, but before he could blink, Harry had disappeared down the corridor, tearing his headset from his ear and only barely stifling the sob heard from his lips. Louis watched him go, arms falling to his sides and trepidation flooding his middle. 

 

❡❡❡

 

Two hours, five texts, and three missed phone calls later, Louis stood outside the bathroom door of his and Harry’s hotel room, hand resting on the knob that had been locked since the concert had ended. 

“Haz,” Louis said, knocking again, just little raps, “Haz, you have to come out some time.” He didn’t hear anything. He had the feeling Harry was trying to be as quiet, as little as he could. Perhaps he’d ever fallen asleep, cheek imprinted with the plush of the bathroom rug, with the grit of the drywall. “Harry,” Louis said, not loud, not quite, just, “Harry. Let me in.” 

He didn’t answer, but Louis hadn’t expected him to. 

“Harry, let me in. Let me in, please.” He didn’t hear anything, and he knew Harry was trying his best to be silent, to crawl back into his shell and wait for Louis to leave him alone. “Haz, it’s me,” Louis said, his voice softening as he rested his cheek against the door. “It’s me. Think about me.” He didn’t hear anything. “Think about me.” 

It took several long moments before he heard the brush of feet on the floor again, and finally the knob turned and Harry let the door creak open, sliding out of Louis’ sight and ducking his head. Louis didn’t hesitate before he stepped inside, shut the door. He let Harry keep his chin down, let him hide his face and his wet cheeks, his damp eyes, and he wrapped him tightly against his chest. 

He felt harry sob quietly. Louis nuzzled his nose into the dip of Harry’s neck, not quite thinking, just doing, just doing what he felt he should. He held him tighter, stroked Harry’s curls, still smelling of this morning’s shampoo, still short from his last trim. 

“You’re okay,” he whispered, lips touching Harry’s ear, and Harry let his eyes leak against Louis’ front. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” They didn’t move, didn’t go to the couch and curl against the cushions, didn’t rest their legs, didn’t fall asleep in one another’s arms for the first time in weeks. They stood there, hidden behind the door, arms tight and bright and vulnerable against the white floor, and somehow that was important. 

“You did very well, you know?” he asked, voice as quiet as if he were speaking to an infant, and he tucked a stray curl behind Harry’s ear. 

“No,” Harry mumbled into his chest. “I fucked the whole thing up. I ruined the show because I couldn’t take a stupid breath. I fucked it up.” 

“You did no such thing,” Louis said sternly, his ear pressing into Harry’s shoulder as he murmured, lips inches from the warmth of his neck. “You missed a half a word, big deal,” he insisted, leaning back to peer intently into Harry’s face. “You performed about a hundred more absolutely beautifully. Didn’t you notice those? Didn’t you notice all the things you did that made the show so much better?” 

“But that fucking verse,” Harry whispered, and Louis sighed, lips pursed. 

“I noticed,” he said gently. “I noticed every word. It was incredible, and if you skipped a syllable, then it was incomparable to every other syllable that you sang perfectly. You did so well tonight,” he said, tucking him back into his chest. “You sang so, so beautifully, okay? And I’ve never been so proud of you.” 

“The things they’re saying,” Harry mumbled, eyes leaking into Louis’ jumper. “On Twitter. On YouTube…” Louis’ chest suddenly turned to ice as he thought of anyone criticizing Harry only for trying his best, only for the tiniest mistake, and his face hardened. 

“You don’t fucking listen to them, Harry,” he growled. “You don’t listen to one fucking word they say, okay? They’re jealous losers who spend their lives looking for someone else to bring down, and you’re so much better than them. Don’t listen to them for one minute.” He squeezed Harry’s fingers. “If they’re going to judge you like that for one stupid word, then they’re not worth anything you might feel. You understand?” Harry only blinked, sniffling miserably and letting his forehead drop onto Louis’ shoulder. 

He thought about how wrong this was, about how Simon would feel if he knew about this, about everything that wasn’t okay, that wasn’t how it should be with Harry in his arms and Louis’ lips touching his skin. 

He held him tighter.  _Not tonight,_ Louis thought. Harry needed him, needed him more than he ever had, perhaps, and Louis… 

Not tonight. 

 

❡❡❡

 

It took a very long time to bring Harry out of the bathroom, and even longer to coax him out of his jeans and into a pair of pyjama bottoms. Now that he’d stopped crying, a hot, burning swell of shame was beginning to coil in the pit of his stomach, working its way up to his cheeks and turning them red. 

“You’re okay?” Louis asked gently, grabbing another tissue from the bedside table and handing it to Harry. He mopped at his cheeks and nose once more, keeping his head ducked as he sniffled and nodded. 

“M’ fine. Thanks, though.” He muttered, not meeting Louis’ eye. 

“Yeah.” Louis said, quiet as he watched him, watched him try to keep himself together in front of Louis. “You… Do you… You need, like… Should I call Zayn? Have him spend the night with you? Niall? Li? Or… you know, I mean, I could…” The unspoken proposition hung in the air, and the two of them seemed to still. “Never mind,” he said quickly, just as Harry shook his head. 

“I’ll be okay,” he whispered "Just being stupid."

“Yeah, you are," Louis smiled gently, and a dimple darkened Harry's left cheek. "Sure you're all right ?” he murmured again, peering over at him, just wanting to squeeze his knee, to hug him, to do something to make him feel better, feel warmer. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, mustering a smile with what looked like nearly painful difficulty. “If I’m not, I’ll let you know.” 

“Promise?” Louis asked, and suddenly guilt was writhing in his stomach, because he hadn’t been able to keep the promise he’d made Harry mere hours earlier. 

“Swear,” Harry mumbled, and Louis swallowed, throat suddenly tight. 

“Okay,” He whispered. “Okay. Goodnight, Haz.” He stayed up a long time after Harry finally dozed off, breaths even and eyes fluttering innocently in his sleep.


	31. Shirtsleeves

⤞✧⤝ 

 

 

“How is he?”

Louis jumped, eyes wide as he turned to see someone hovering in the door frame of the hotel bathroom he and Harry were sharing.  It was quite late, probably a little past one, and after the nightmarish experience of their first performance on tour, he hadn’t been able to sleep.  Fortunately Harry hadn’t woken since Louis had sent him to bed a couple hours earlier.

“What?” Louis asked groggily, rubbing his eyes.

“Harry,” Zayn said, stepping into the toilet.  “Is he all right?  After tonight, I mean.”

“Oh,” Louis sighed, dragging a damp wash clothe over his face.  “I dunno.  You know how he is.” He set the clothe down in the basin.  “How’d you get in here? What are you doing still awake? We’ve got to be up for the bus tomorrow.” 

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked.” Zayn said sheepishly, hands in his pockets.  “Besides, I could ask you the same thing.” Louis shrugged.

“Just... couldn’t close my eyes, I guess,” he said.  “And I didn’t... If Harry woke up, I didn’t want him to have to...”

“Yeah,” Zayn muttered.  “I’ve, uh... had a look at Twitter.”  Louis blanched.  He’d avoided touching his mobile since the end of the show, knowing what he’d find. He didn’t quite feel like reading hundreds of words of hate toward his boyfr- toward... his best friend.  

“Yeah,” he scowled.  “And how is it?  Suppose the weather is a trending topic, is it?” Zayn simply sighed, touching the tile quietly as not to wake Harry, who was still fast asleep in one of the beds outside.  

“No, Lou,” Zayn said, sliding to sit on the edge of the bath.  “Just...people being stupid.”  The two of them were silent.

“How bad is it?” Louis asked, biting his lip.

“It’s... Well, I mean, it’s enough.  You know?” Zayn asked, face darkening slightly, and Louis wondered what on earth he could have read to make him look so piqued.  “Not anything Harry deserves to hear.”  

“No,” Louis shook his head.  “No.” He blinked past the open door, down at the rumpled figure of Harry curled shyly around the blankets.  He’d kicked them off in his sleep, letting them tangle around his feet.  His face was remarkably blank as he slept, his eyes still.  Louis hoped he wasn’t dreaming tonight.  “I’m scared for him,” he admitted, and he couldn’t quite meet Zayn’s eye. 

“I know, bud,” Zayn said quietly.  “Harry’s the baby, in’e?  We knew he’d have a harder time with this than the rest of us.”  

“But Niall and Liam?” Louis swallowed, turning to look him in the face.  “They’re only a couple of months older than he is.  What makes him so vulnerable?”

“You know, Lou.  He’s always been self-conscious, always wanted to please.  Niall and Li are more confident than he is.  Liam reached Judges’ Houses at fourteen, and he’s been offered loads of record contracts.  Niall’s been performing since he was four.  This is the first time anyone’s told Harry he’s got what it takes to do something like this, to be a part of something  _big._ And now that he has...” Zayn trailed off and bile churned low and angry and sick in Louis’ stomach.  His eyes drifted toward the phone sitting on Harry’s nightstand, lighting every few minutes with another notification.  At the thought of what they might say, the nausea crept up Louis’ throat.

“S’not fair,” Louis muttered, face taut.  “That Harry, of all people, is being treated like this; that people are saying these things about him, when he’s so...” His throat clenched.  “It isn’t fair.”

“What else is new?” Zayn smiled wryly, an elbow nudging Louis’ ribs.  Where Zayn was smiling, however, clearly wanting to lighten the atmosphere, something dark and all too frightening was beginning to coil in Louis’ chest.  So far, their lives as popstars had not been anything he’d expected them to be.  

“What he needs,” Zayn murmured, ducking to peer intently into Louis’ downturnt face, “Is someone to support him.”

“And I always will,” Louis whispered.  “I just... I dunno.  It seems so small compared to everything else going on.  I don’t know how much support he’ll need when things like this happen.”  He looked up at Zayn.  “If an album takes off - if we start touring - it’ll only get bigger from here, won’t it?  And it won’t just be Britain sending him hate.  It will be the entire planet. I just...” he sighed, tucking his hair behind his ears and chuckling dryly.  “I guess I never thought about the negatives of this before.  I mean, apart from - well-” And his gaze darted back to the open door.  Zayn’s lips twitched.

“I don’t think any of us did, mate,” he shrugged, winding a string of new floss idly around his forefinger.  “And how could we have?  Sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen and given the opportunity to live our dreams... Of course we never thought about the negatives.  But they have to be there, don’t they? You don’t think life would have just handed us this miracle on a silver platter and said, ‘Hey, you don’t have to worry about anything ever again’?”

“Of course not,” Louis muttered defensively. The thing was, in some unconscious, optimistic recess of his brain, he  _had._ And he had never felt so stupid before.

“It’s okay,” Zayn said, a little too gently for Louis’ liking.  “No one can blame you for hoping, Louis.” This rubbed him the wrong way, for some reason.

“It’s only me, then, is it?” he said defensively.  “I was the only one daft enough to think this would all be rainbows and butterflies?  Not one other person wanted to look forward to this and be  _happy?_ ” And his fingers were twitching, twitching so badly with the urge to point at Harry, to move his hand and shout “ _He was stupid too! We were stupid together, and now we’re paying the price, aren’t we?”_

“No, Lou,” Zayn sighed.  “Of course not.  It’s just... This has been so much harder on you... two.  Than for the rest of us, I mean.  You know it has.” Louis was quiet for a very long time.  Zayn was right.  He, Niall, and Liam weren’t faced with the ultimatum that he and Harry had been.  They weren’t dependent upon one another to the point of detriment, of stupidity; they weren’t being attacked the way Harry was now and they weren’t feeling each sting through him like Louis was, like a sharp slap to the face every time the boy he cared for more than anything was hurt. “And I’m sorry about that.”

“S’not your fault,” Louis finally mumbled.  “We shouldn’t have been so naive.   _I_ shouldn’t have been so naive,” he corrected himself, and he felt suddenly strangled as he caught Harry lying small and alone among the blankets, eyes raw and puffy.  " _Fuck,_ look at him.  He’s only sixteen,” and his voice broke.  “He shouldn’t have to... I shouldn’t have put him in this kind of-”

“Enough,” Zayn hushed him, squeezing Louis’ leg.  “No use regretting what we can’t change, Louis.  It’ll only make things more difficult.”

“Don’t go all philosophical on me now,” Louis said, finally bringing his mouth up into a grin, and Zayn kicked him lazily in the thigh.  “I guess you’re right,” Louis added, shoulders slumping.  “I can’t do anything about it now, can I?  It’s just... Everything is so  _much._  I don’t know how to deal with it, I don’t know how Harry will be able to deal with it.  How  _you’ll_ be able to deal with it, you and the boys.”

“I know you don’t,” Zayn said.  “I don’t either, to be honest. We’re all worried about one another. Why, just an hour ago, Niall fell flat on his face tripping over his suitcase.  Laughed like a hyena through his bloody nose,” he added thoughtfully. “But he tripped, nonetheless.” A dimple cocked in Louis’ chin.

“Traveling, eh?” he mused.  “It’s getting to me too, to be honest.  It’d be nice to be home again.  Or... I dunno, to have somewhere to kick back, you know?  Without other people’s towels and mini soaps and shampoos all over the place.”

“I suppose when the tour finishes, we’ll be able to go home again,” Zayn shrugged.  

“Yeah,” Louis nodded slowly.  “But what about after? When we make the album, we’ll be working here in London, won’t we? Are we going to live in hotels half our lives?”

“I dunno,” Zayn sighed, growing tired at the very thought. “We’ll probably have to get places here at some point, at least somewhere small.  D’you reckon they’d put all five of us together, or split us up?”

“Dunno,” Louis echoed, lips parting thoughtfully.  After living with so many people for so many months, the thought of living most of his life alone in a cold, empty house was chilling.  He’d grown used to falling asleep to the sounds of blankets rustling quietly on the other side of the room, to that warm feeling of walking into the kitchen and finding someone reading the paper or making a cup of tea.  He wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself if Simon plopped him down into the middle of a vast, empty flat on his own.  

“It’s a bit frightening, thinking about the future,” he admitted shyly.  “Some of us are having trouble enough with the present, yeah?” As he watched, Harry stirred slightly in his sleep, nuzzling into his hand and curling against the pillow.  Louis felt Zayn’s eyes hot on his face.

“He’s okay right now, Lou,” Zayn murmured, and Louis turned as his voice turned suddenly soft, warm in the little bathroom.  “He’s sleeping, he’ll be all right in the meantime.  What about you?  are you having trouble?”

“Of course I’m not,” Louis said automatically, because yeah. He was tired, he was worried, he was consistently stressed over the issue that was his and Harry’s relationship, but he was okay.  He was happy enough, really, and as long as his boys were all right as well, nothing was too difficult.  “I’m all right,” he added as Zayn sent him a sharp glance.  “It’s a bit much to get used to, I suppose, but it’s okay.  We’re all okay, aren’t we?”

“I think so,” Zayn nodded slowly, smiling gently down at the tile.  “Adjusting, and all.”  He paused, and Louis heard the question on his lips before Zayn ever spoke it. “Speaking of adjusting...”

“Zayn,” Louis groaned quietly, and Zayn reached forward to squeeze his shoulder.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, Lou, I’m sorry,” he gave, “But I do think you should.  I mean, you’re not going to talk about it with Haz, are you?”

“We... we have,” Louis shrugged quietly, not meeting his eye.  “When rehearsals began.”

“What, a month ago?  Lou, have you even told the others about this? Niall and Liam?”

“I was getting around to it,” Louis muttered.  “Why,” he added, looking sharply up at Zayn.  “What have you told them?”

“Nothing,” Zayn shook his head, lips turning downward.  “Just to give you time to tell them on your own.  Why are you keeping it from them, Louis?  From everyone?”

“I dunno, Zayn,” Louis sighed, bending to sit beside him on the bath.  He rest his cheek against the cool tile of the wall and closed his eyes. “I’m not even sure  _I’ve_  caught up with the idea just yet.  It’s... a lot, is all.”

And really, it was ironic, because it was the  _lack_ of Harry as his own that made this so strange, the presence of an absence.  He squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“Is it very difficult for you two?” Zayn asked quietly. Louis was silent for a long time before he answered.  It was always difficult.  Harry was always there in the back of his mind, wrapping Louis’ thoughts in long, warm hugs and green eyes and pink lips, in careful fingers and the feeling of eyelashes on his cheeks.  He could be as distracted as ever, surrounded by sheet music and sound equipment and techmen, and there would still be something there - whether it be Harry’s bag sitting in the corner of the room, the smell of his aftershave grazing the sleeves of Louis’ jumper, or the touch of another’s hand to remind him that Harry’s was gentler, Harry’s was softer, Harry’s was warmer.

“Sometimes,” he said instead, opening his eyes once more.  “Tougher for Haz, I think.” Except he didn’t think so.  “Younger, you know.”

“You’re still mates, though?” Zayn asked, and Louis nodded.  That went without question. “Good,” Zayn said quietly.  “He really needs you there, Louis.  I don’t think you understand just how much.” Louis didn’t think Zayn understood just how true the reverse was also.  He didn’t think he knew of the ache in his gut, low and squirming with guilt.  He nodded again.

“I’m not planning on skiving off anytime soon,” he admitted quietly.  “I don’t... I know I’m not supposed to feel like this anymore,” he looked anxiously up at Zayn.  “But I don’t like being away from him, Zayn.  I never like being away from any of you, you know?  And with Haz, it’s just... that much worse, I suppose.”

“I know,” Zayn said gently.  “We know what you had isn’t going to fade overnight, Lou.  It’s about finding a balance, I reckon.  If you can do that, if you can keep him around without breaking the rules, then I don’t think either of you have anything to worry about.”  Everything sounded so much simpler like that.  Suddenly Louis felt so very, very tired as he hugged his leg to his chest and rested his cheek on his knee.  

“Did I ever tell you I love you?” he smiled, and Zayn grinned, tucking Louis into his side for an affectionate hug.  

“No, never,” he deadpanned, ruffling his hair and earning a squawk in return.   “Get some sleep, Lou, you’re dead on your feet. Go on, now.” He ushered Louis out of the toilet, following him and pausing by the hotel room door. “Night, bud” he added, whispering now with respect to Harry’s dozing figure.

“Night,” Louis murmured, and he fell silent as Zayn shut the door behind him, the sound of his footsteps dimmed down the corridor.  He was still for a long time, eyes wandering aimlessly around the room and landing on Harry, who was still curled loosely around his pillow.  His shoulders rose up and down, up and down with each breath.

He finally tiptoed to his trunk, changing into a pair of sweats and wriggling out of his socks.  He pulled back the corner of his blankets, about to climb into bed, before he paused once more.  Squinting through the dark, he reached forward toward the night stand and scooped up Harry’s phone, which was lying lifeless and silent on the wood.  

He buried it carefully under a pile of clothes in his own suitcase before turning off the lamp and crawling into bed.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

It would take quite some time before Harry regained his confidence onstage, especially now that rehearsals were fewer and there was little time to practise in between shows.  The weeks to come would be scattered with pale cheeks, clammy palms, and, during a few of his more severe episodes of anxiety, headaches and upset stomachs. The other boys, Louis and Liam in particular, brimmed with distracting concern whenever they came across a shaking Harry before curtain, but Savan and Ali assured them that he was only suffering a rather bad case of nerves after his choke on the first night.

After a remarkable number of pep talks from the boys and a long conversation with Simon (he’d assured Harry that he was proud of his perseverance, and that he’d been doing very well), Harry finally began to grow a little more comfortable with a microphone in his hand.  It went without saying that he never again forgot to take a breath during his solo, and to everyone’s relief, the performances to come were smooth and without real incident (the accidental burning of Cher’s extensions notwithstanding).

In fact, the tour was going by much more quickly than any of them had expected, and before they knew it, April was upon them and the singers only had two shows left, both of them in Cardiff.

“It’s a bit sad, isn’t it?” Rebecca said one day as all the performers were crowded into a quiet pub after rehearsals.  They’d agreed to go out together as a group for old times’ sake, and it felt as if they were back in X House again, giggling over video diaries and discussing the latest football match.  Something low and wistful churned in the pit of Harry’s stomach at the thought, and he reached for the flask of Louis’ hard cider, sitting alone on the table while its owner was in the loo.  Louis had jumped from his seat with the ringing of his phone, and hadn’t returned since.  

Harry tossed the hot stuff to the back of his throat and gulped. The sharp taste in his mouth had his lips curling; since trying a sip of wine at a very informal press conference a couple of weeks ago, he’d decided he quite liked the bite of alcohol.  

“What’s ‘at?” Cher turned to Rebecca, dabbing her own lip free of beer and brushing her hair from her face.

“Just that… The last time we said goodbye on the show, we knew it wasn’t the end, that we’d see each other again on the tour.  But now that it’s nearly over…” The thing in Harry’s stomach wriggled, and he realised with a jolt that he didn’t know when he’d see these people again, these friends he’d gotten to know over the course of the band’s rise to fame, these friends who shared the experience.   _Would_  they ever see one another again?

“C’mon, now, we’ll meet again soon,” Mary said jovially, squeezing Rebecca’s shoulder.  “We’re mates! We don’t just cuff each other on the back of the head and part ways.”

“Definitely not,” Aiden nodded.  “We’ve all got each other’s numbers, haven’t we?  We’ll all stay in touch.”

They looked up as Louis strode back across the bar and toward the table, murmuring a farewell into his phone.  Harry sent him a curious glance while he shut the mobile and slid it back into his front pocket. 

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Louis muttered, cheeks flushed. “I… Just Simon.”

“Simon?” Liam’s nose wrinkled.  “What was he calling for?”

“I mean… It was my mum,” Louis sputtered, sending fleeting looks toward Harry, eyes wide.  “Wanted to say hello.”

Aiden snorted, quite used to Louis’ jabber by now, and jumped back into their conversation. Harry frowned, blinking once before turning to him again.

“Like I said, you lot won’t get rid of me that easily.  I’ve back up all my contacts, in case any of you try to destroy my phone,” he added in a hiss, and Paije chortled while Mary sighed in mock disappointment.  

“It’ll be difficult, won’t it?” sighed Katie, who seemed determined to mourn some of the last of their time together.  “The lot of us are scattered across Britain, and Niall and Mary live in Ireland! We’ll never be able to see each other.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Niall roared happily through a mouthful of whiskey.  “We can’t stay in Dublin, can we?  What do you think we’d do, fly back and forth to London every few days for work?” 

“You know, I’ve been wondering about that,” Matt said, frowning thoughtfully. “Only two of us actually live in London,” he gestured to Katie and Paije, “And that’s where we’ll be producing.  Will the rest of us have to drive or fly hours each weekend and live out of hotel rooms?”

“Of course not,” Wagner said, “I’m leasing a flat the first chance I have. I finally have enough money to live in London, and I’m not wasting it on petrol, going back and forth from Dudley.”

“You’d really want to leave home?” Harry asked, eyes wide.  He was young, he’d celebrated his seventeenth birthday only a couple of months ago (the party Louis and Niall had thrown for him had been absolutely  _wild;_ he’d been picking jello out of his clothes for days).  He’d never really imagined having a home that wasn’t his family’s.   _You’ve been living without them for nearly a year,_ he reminded himself, but living in the X House and in scattered hotels with Louis had been different.  He hadn’t been  _alone,_ by himself, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to keep his head in a situation like that.  He wasn’t an adult, he didn’t know how to… pay  _bills,_ and make, like…  _appointments,_  and all that other grown-up stuff.   _Ew._ He’d never lived independently in his life.  Was now, being a teenager who had never even completed sixth form, a good time to start?

“Young Harry,” Wagner said airily, dropping a heavy arm over his shoulder, “My home has always been Brasil.  Dudley, Blackpool, London, they’re all the same to me.”

“Most of us moved out years ago,” Mary motioned to the group, and Harry was reminded again just how much of a child he was, especially among the other performers.  

“I can’t wait to get my own flat,” Liam sighed wistfully.  “It’ll be amazing, living on my own in the heart of London, recording every day…”

“I know the feeling,” Zayn smiled.  “Just like… having my own stuff, doing my own thing… I’ll finally have my own bathroom,” he added with a grin, and he and Niall high-fived.

“You’re not nervous at all?” Harry asked incredulously.  He was months younger than Niall and Liam; surely he couldn’t be the only one who was afraid of this, could he? “After living with one another for so long, the idea of being on your own isn’t a little…well, scary?” He blushed.

“ _Heavens,_ no,” Cher exclaimed, shoulders sagging tiredly.  “I’ve been looking forward to having my own space again since August.  I can’t wait to get away from you nutters!” she teased, and everyone chuckled, nodding all the same.  Harry’s eyes roamed Liam’s shining face, Niall’s bright grin, Zayn’s easy smile. His gaze finally crossed Louis - the only other person not brimming with excitement.  

As the others turned back to their drinks, Matt and Wagner ducking off to the pool table with a cluster of spectators in tow, Louis slid onto the barstool beside Harry’s and ran a hand over his shoulder.

“We’ll be okay,” He promised quietly.  Harry could only nod.

 

⤞✧⤝

 

“No  _way._ ”

“C’mon, it’s called Truth or Dare,not Truth or Dare or wimp-out-whenever-you-feel-like.  You have to do it.”

“ _That?_ Are you of your rocker, mate?  No one would ever do that!”

“Well, you’re about to make history then, aren’t you? Be  _proud,_ Liam!  This is your moment!”

“Niall,” Liam sighed, “There comes a time when a man must look at his options in life and say, ‘Now, will this or will this  _not_ land me in a federal prison?’”

“Don’t worry, I checked your calendar and you’re not scheduled for a mid-life crisis until the twenty-sixth,” Niall rolled his eyes.  _“_ Go, Liam!” 

“Niall, give him a break,” Zayn chuckled, eying a panicked Liam curled into the sofa of the dressing room.  “It’s our last show, you don’t want to stress him out.”

“Those are the  _rules,_ Zayn!” Niall said urgently, eyes wide.  “Truth or Dare!  You  _can’t_ pass!”

“Ni, you dared him to pour hot coffee down the back of Simon’s shirt. I don’t think the common rules apply here.” Zayn said sarcastically, tugging Liam into his side and running his hand up and down his arm.  

“Oh come  _on,_ that’s nothing!” Niall shouted indignantly.  “You didn’t see me  _passing_ like a wuss when my friends dared me to streak through the auditorium on assembly day.  Now, Liam, you get your hands on a coffee pot this  _second_ or the next dare I give will be to pour it all over your suitcase.” He leaned forward menacingly, “And it will be  _Instant.”_

“Ni, that’s the only kind of coffee we have,” Louis snorted, not looking up from the television screen where small football players dressed in red and black darted over a virtual pitch, chasing a ball. “Dammit,” he added, scowling when his thumb fumbled over the joypad and the ball on the screen went whizzing into the red net.  

“I don’t understand, Niall,” Liam said, “Do you  _want_ me sacked?  Is that truly what you’re going for?  I didn’t think I took up that much counter-space in the bathroom, mate, but I suppose—” 

“I hope you’re not joking about that, because you  _do_ take up a lot of room in the bathroom,” Zayn said vaguely as he watched Louis’ tiny football player dart across the television once more.  “Fucking eucalyptus rubs, and shit—”

“It clears sinuses and reduces stress,” Liam insisted, ironically looking more and more agitated by the minute.  “I wonder if I packed that yet,” he added to himself.  

“What?” Louis squawked from the armchair, eyes never leaving the screen.  “You’ve packed already?  You lot aren’t checking out for two days!”

“What do you mean?” Niall asked, brow furrowed.  “Aren’t you checking on Tuesday as well?”

“I—” Louis turned quickly, finally bringing his gaze from the football match.  His ears turned red.  “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”  Zayn sent him a glance full of raised eyebrows, and Louis promptly stuck out his tongue before turning back to the telly, swearing loudly when the opposing team scored another goal.  

“Liam,” Niall huffed indignantly, hands on his narrow hips, “I am massively disappointed and ashamed of you, and for your cowardice you will pay.”  He stomped out of the room, face frighteningly determined as he went.  Liam turned to the others, face white.  

“Should I run or hide?”

“Both,” Zayn and Louis said at once.  “In fact,” Zayn continued, “Run and hide in Simon’s office.  That’s the last place he’d look. Don’t you think, Lou?”

But Louis was suddenly distracted by the buzzing of his phone on the coffee table.  He turned, face sharp as he tossed the controller over his shoulder, but Zayn scooped the mobile up before he had the chance to reach for it.  “Who’s ‘Sotheby?’” he asked, brow furrowed. 

“Great uncle,” Louis muttered furiously, ears growing brighter by the moment as he scrambled for the phone and held it to his ear.  Zayn and Liam only caught a hushed, “Hi, Marie, how’s it coming?” before he slid into the hallway and slammed the door door shut.

“He’s got an uncle named Marie?” Liam’s nose wrinkled innocently, and Zayn laughed.

“He’s up to something,” He said warily.  “I don’t care what it is or who winds up filing suit, as long as I’m not involved.”

“Hear, hear,” Liam nodded somberly.  He tapped his chin, lips pursed.  “I wonder if I could sue Niall for empirical peer pressure.” 

Zayn snorted, “Only if you want the damages paid in Quiznos coupons.”

“What about Quiznos?” Someone said, and they turned to see Harry shuffle into the room, looking exhausted.  Savan had kept him late after rehearsals, working hard on his solo. It had been a long day, seeing as they were prepping for their last and most important show.  “Is someone ordering out?”

“‘Fraid not,” Zayn shrugged.  “Just talking about filing suit against Niall.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded understanding.  “Thought Lou might be calling.  He’s on the phone outside.”

“We know,” Liam rolled his eyes.  “Speaking with his great uncle Marie.”  Harry stared blankly at the two of them, waiting for one to burst into laughter, but when they only smiled expectantly up at him, he sighed, leaning against the doorframe.

“Whatever,” he mumbled.  “M’too tired to keep up with you lot.  I just want to get back to the hotel and nap.”

“Have we been cleared to go, then?” Zayn asked, perking.  “Been meaning to stop by Kingsland’s for awhile now, since  _someone_ poured all me mouthwash down the sink,” he rounded on Liam.  

“I thought it was water, or something!  It’d had been sitting on the counter for five days!” Liam argued, hands high in the air

“It was  _blue!”_ Zayn hollered, incredulous, and Harry groaned, sinking to the floor of the threshold.  He yelped, clutching his knee as Louis stumbled back into the room, still on his mobile.

“Half an hour?  All right, we’ll—Oi!” He screeched, eyes wide as he tripped over Harry.  “Harold, blimey!  Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, seeming too tired to get up.  

“You ought to move out of the way, mate, or you’re gonna get hurt,” Louis said, sliding his phone back into his pocket and patting Harry’s knee affectionately.  

“You don’t say,” Harry smiled wryly, and Louis rolled his eyes, striding to the television and grabbing the keys to the car he’d been renting from Management for the duration of the tour.  It had seemed silly, at first, seeing as they had someone to drive them wherever they liked, but they’d come to realise that it was quite nice to have free reign over a car in the heart of London, and Louis was glumly anticipating the moment he’d need to return it.  

“Are you heading out, then?” Liam asked as the keys clinked in Louis’ hand, and Harry looked up.  It wasn’t common for Louis to go anywhere without him, and especially now he’d love to get back to the hotel and sleep rehearsals off.  

“Yeah, I thought Harry and I would just—”

“Liam, meet your doom, you… Oh, shit!  Bloody fucking wankstain—” Suddenly the room was much more lively as Niall came barreling into the room, full coffee pot clutched in his hand, but before he could so much as step toward Liam, he rammed straight into Harry, who was still sitting in the doorway.  

Harry shouted as Niall flew face first toward the floor, and all five seemed to watch in horrified silence as the coffee pot soared out of Niall’s fist and into the air before slowly, slowly, falling open—straight over Harry. 

As the pot clattered to the carpet, the boys blinked to find Niall blinking foolishly from the floor, eyes wide and mouth gaping, and a very, very wet Harry, absolutely drenched in brown coffee.  

“Niall, you  _jerk,_ ” Harry moaned, cringing as he watched the stuff drip from his fingers and soak deep into his tee shirt. Louis was stunned into delighted silence, both bursting to laugh at what had just happened to and pepper Harry’s face with kisses, because of course  _he,_ of all people, would call Niall something so gentle as  _jerk_ after having hot coffee - instant, as well, how awful - dumped all over him.  If it had been Louis, Niall may not have been conscious, at this point.  Either that, or Louis’d have been banned from the hotel for disrupting the guests with foul language.  

“Sorry,” Niall coughed sheepishly, finally remembering how to speak as he rolled upright as delicately lifted the empty pot.  “Sorry, Haz.”  Harry only sighed, dragging his wet hands across his trousers and tucking a damp curl behind his ear.  “In all fairness, you were sitting in the middle of the door.”  

“Let’s not, Nialler,” Zayn chuckled, amusement clear on his face as he jumped to help Harry to his feet.  “Rough day for you all over, innit?”  Harry only sighed, again, looking dolefully up at Louis.  

“Can you take me back to the hotel, Lou?  I should shower this off.”

“Course,” Louis shrugged, trying very, very hard not to grin, and as he turned to slide into his shoes he bit hard on the knuckles of his right hand, shaking with silent laughter. 

“I can see you,” Harry noted wryly, and Louis snorted into his palm, struggling to compose himself before turning back around.  Harry was smiling, though, a tired little thing, and Louis chucked all the way down the stairs to the carpark, ruffling Niall’s hair and blowing kisses to Liam and Zayn as he went.

He tried very hard not to look at Harry as they slid into the rental, worried he’d do something stupid, like take a photo, but then Harry was sighing, saying, “Go ahead, get it out.”

“What, er, do you mean?” Louis asked, voice high with the effort of keeping a straight face.  

“You can laugh,” Harry smiled.  “If it were anyone else, I’d think it was pretty funny too.”  Louis turned, eying him for a solid second before he hunched, burying his face in his hands and snickering heartily.  

“Your face, mate,” He howled into his wrist, teeth biting skin, “I… I told you to get out of the door…” 

“All right, all right,” Harry grinned, rolling his eyes as he tugged at the hem of his wet shirt and waved it gently, hoping to let it dry a little bit faster.  “Take me back, yeah?  Then I promise, you tweet as many pictures as you like.” Louis shook his head, stifling the last of his laughter between his lips and setting his mobile onto the dashboard. 

“Buckled?” Louis hummed, and Harry answered with the click of his seatbelt, cringing as  the canvas pressed his wet shirt to his skin.  Louis started the engine

“God, I can’t wait to get into a dry shirt,” he groaned, his hands floating aimlessly in the air as he searched for a place to put them that wasn’t  _wet._  He peered past the windshield as Louis turned onto Fulton and passed North End. “Lou,” He said suddenly, head whipping round.  “You just missed our turn.”

“Um,” Louis hummed as he stared pointedly at the road ahead. “I thought we could make a quick stop first.” His stomach jumped, twisting anxiously as he dug his teeth into his lower lip.

“Where?” Harry asked, turning to eye Louis as his brow wrinkled.  “Lou, come on, I’ve got coffee all down my front.  I need to go back and change.”

“Well, the thing is,” Louis began vaguely, “Your clothes aren’t exactly at the hotel.” He took a left, turning into a smaller, quieter area of London, the buildings sparser and the grass greener.  

“What?” Harry asked, brow wrinkling.  “Why?  Lou, where’d you put my stuff?  Is this some kind of bad prank?”

“No Tomlinson prank is a bad prank,” Louis insisted, but he waved him off all the same.  “Just be patient.  I want to show you something.” With a turn of the steering wheel, he pulled off of the city road and onto a long, smooth stretch of pavement winding over green hills.  

“What?” Harry asked, whining slightly, and Louis grinned.  He continued looping through the long, pretty drive, the road lined with carefully trimmed bushes and flowerbeds, until the car stopped before a massive, wrought-iron gate.  A keypad stood on the side of the road.

“Lou, just turn around,” Harry sighed, dabbing at his blouse.  “How do you expect to get through the ga—” He fell silent as Louis entered a code into the keypad and the gate slid slowly open, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “Louis, what are you doing? Do you know someone here?” He paused. “...Did you break in?”

“What did I just say, Harold?  Patience,” He soothed him, and Harry huffed, folding his arms against his chest and eying their surroundings.  The road continued for a quarter mile before Louis pulled into a large car park, stopping in a space labeled, “Reserved.”  

“I’m not paying for the parking ticket,” Harry muttered, and Louis only grinned.  

“Shut up and look, Haz.” He said, and Harry grumbled to himself before looking through his window and up at the building before them.

Louis had parked below a positively enormous block of what must be flats; intricate columns and pillars lining every inch of its exterior, shining windows glistening freshly in the hot sunlight.  A perfectly-trim green lawn circled the front drive and fringed the smooth walls of the block, resembling a piece of lush felt.  

"Lou, why are we here?  Where is here?" Harry asked, bewildered as he peered through the glass.

"Here," Louis said, stomach beginning to writhe with nerves.  His voice hitched, and he balled his fingers tight into his palms.  "Is where we live."  

Harry froze.  His stare locked solidly on the block for what must have been a good minute before he turned to Louis, mouth parted.  

“What?” he breathed, because he had to have misheard him.  He… yes, this had to be a mistake, because they couldn’t…  _here…_ no.  Harry shook his head, curls jostling as he shut his eyes tight and opened them open, as if waiting for the block to disappear.  As he peered up through the windshield once more, he saw that they still cast the little car into very solid shadow.

“We live here,” Louis said again, voice much, much too casual to be legitimate, and as he spoke his knuckles turned white over the steering wheel.  “See the flat on the third floor, just to the left? I bought it.” Louis motioned up toward a long stretch of glistening windows, the sun so hot on their surfaces that anything inside was hidden well. Harry followed his finger, gaping again up at the building before managing to shut his mouth and look back at Louis.

"All right, Lou, give it a rest.  This isn't funny."  

"What, you think I'm jesting?" Louis asked, shaking his head sadly as he climbed out of the car and strode to Harry’s door, pulling it open to let him out. He held out his hand expectantly. “Haz, I’m disappointed in your low expectations.  Now, c’mon, I want to show you around.”  

“Louis, we’re going to be arrested for trespassing.  Not to mention the fine we’ll have to pay just for parking here,” Harry gestured toward the sign.  “C’mon, let’s go back.”

“Harold, Harold, Harold,” Louis tisked, wrapping his hand around Harry’s forearm and tugging him into the sun. “Set aside your ninny worries and trust me, won’t you?” 

_He’s got to be joking,_  Harry thought, growing more and more muddled,  _He’s pulling my leg,_ but he hesitantly placed his fingers in Louis’ palm, all the same.  Louis, a nervous smile pulling at his lips, began dragging him up the enormous set of brick steps and towards the grand oak door. 

"Lou..." he choked, eyes wider than ever as he gazed at the smooth wood and carefully crafted knocker.  "You...You can't be serious."  

"Oh, but I am, dearest Harry!" Louis grinned, seeming to grow more and more excited with each passing moment, “And don’t call me Shirley.” 

“But I didn’t say-” 

“Hush,” Louis patted him, and his fingers darted to another small keypad beside the front doors. He tapped eight numbers into the pad before a small beep sounded in their ears, and they were permitted to walk through the door.  

The two of them stepped into what looked like a lobby.  Gleaming marble covered every inch of the floor, and a wide stretch of a counter sat before them, manned by several employees.  Louis wrapped his fingers around Harry’s wrist and began dragging him eagerly towards a pair of lifts set against the eastern wall.  This wasn’t real, Harry thought.  Louis had to know someone living in the block and had gotten their passcode from them to pull quite a cruel prank on Harry - because Louis knew how much he would want this, living together in this beautiful place. 

“How do you expect to get in?” Harry asked warily as Louis tugged him out of the lift and toward a door labeled  _355._   A laminated sign hung from the handle, reading  _Sotheby’s International Realty._ “I suppose your accomplice gave you a key, did they?”

“If by accomplice, you mean real estate agent, then yes, Harry, she gave a me a  _key,_ ” Louis snorted, and suddenly he was sliding said key, a little brass thing, into the small lock set against the doorknob.  The lock clicked, and the door swung slowly open. 

“What in the name of hell…” Harry mumbled, brow furrowing as the stepped inside, because  _Lord_ , this place was beautiful.  Dark red wood gleamed from beneath their feet and soft, pale white walls cupped wide windows looking down over the garden lying outside.  An iron-wrought coat rack stood beside the door, thought it was devoid of jackets or hats.  To their left curved a living room that must have been bigger than the first floor of the Styles’ home.  It was sparsely furnished, housing little more than a soft sofa, coffee table, and media centre, but an incredible fireplace commanded the east wall, sheathed in warm stone.  

"Well, hell isn't a very nice name, now, is it?" Louis tittered.  “C’mon, have a look.”  He wrapped his fingers over the crook of Harry’s elbow and lead him over the shining floors and toward the fireplace.  “This is the living room, obviously,” he jabbered.  “The media centre’s empty now, but someone from IKEA should be here Tuesday to deliver the television - and my X-Box, of course,” he nodded seriously.  “But, I’ve nicked most of Niall’s FIFA games.  So we’re good there.”

Harry could only cough, eyes wide, and he’s forgotten how to close his mouth again.  

“Well,” Louis shrugged, grinning anxiously as he took Harry’s arm once more and tugged him back to the hallway to stride straight into the most lavish dining hall Harry had ever laid eyes on.  A long glass table dominated the room, hugged by twelve small, wooden chairs the same colour of the floors and cushioned with something soft and creamy.  A bar - an actual  _bar,_ with stools and a counter and a little sink and everything - lined the back wall, shadowed by a tall liquor cabinet.  The most incredible thing of the place, however, was the crystal chandelier dangling from the high ceiling that looked like it cost more than Harry’s education.  

“We should leave, Lou,” he whined, both glum as Louis taunted him blatantly with what could be  _theirs,_ their home together, and very worried as he wondered what would happen if they wound up breaking something expensive.  “We’re going to get in trouble, being here.”

“It’s  _our_ flat, Haz, I don’t think so,” Louis laughed.  “By the way,” he added, starting for an archway on the other end of the room, “That bar is off limits until February the first.  You hear?” Harry couldn’t bring any suitable response to mind, and he blinked stupidly up at the chandelier once more before letting his feet carry him after Louis.  

“Take a look at this,” Louis said, voice slowly growing more and more excited the longer they strode the flat, and he swept his arms wide to present to Harry what must have been the kitchen.  For the first time since getting out of the car, Harry felt his stomach wriggle with warm butterflies.  This was all feeling very…  _domestic._ He swallowed tightly, reminding himself that there was no way this belonged to them.  It just wasn’t a possibility… Was it?

“I know how much you love to cook,” Louis said shyly.  “We’ve got the best appliances out there.  Some of this shit is insane,” he shook his head, looking just as dazed as Harry was a for a moment, “Look, the oven’s got like a warming drawer, or something?  What the fuck even is that?  And this doesn’t even  _look_ like a microwave, it looks like the operations panel of Apollo 11.  But, you know, I thought it’d… I mean, if you’d like it, then it was like worth…” he trailed off, suddenly quite pink in the shining kitchen.  

“Lou,” Harry said, voice hoarse.  He turned, trying to ignore his surroundings and look the smaller boy in the eye.  “If this is a joke… I mean, it’s a brilliant prank and must have taken quite a lot of effort, but… Please, be serious with me.  This isn’t… Like, I wouldn’t make a laugh out of this kind of thing.”  He watched as Louis’ face fell.

“You really don’t believe me?” he asked, crestfallen, and Harry only blinked, not sure what to think at this point.  “I…. This isn’t something I would joke about, Harry,” Louis said earnestly.  “Never with you.  How horrible would that be, knowing how worried you’ve been about living in London?  C’mon,” he smiled, stepping toward him.  “I love a good prank, but you know me, H.  You know what’s important to me.”  

Harry couldn’t bring himself to nod, to assent, for something very, very big was crashing down inside of him like a tidal wave, hard and bright, and suddenly he couldn’t quite feel his fingers anymore.

“Y-you,” He began, throat clenching as he mouthed silently over unspoken words, “This… It’s really - you mean to say - this really is  _ours?_ This belongs to _us?_ ” 

“Kind of hard to wrap your head around, isn’t it?” Louis asked, peering nervously up at Harry through fluttering eyelashes, and the wave dropped hard into Harry’s chest with one heavy crash.  This was  _their_ flat.  This was their home.  They were going to live here, he and Louis, and there would be no more sharing bathrooms, no more dusty hotels, no more living out of suitcases, no more  _anything_ but their very own space, their very own haven.  

 ”Oh my God..." Harry muttered, pulse banging in his temples as he suddenly looked around the place, this time with the solid knowledge that it was his.   _His_ kitchen.   _His_ couch.   _His_ coatrack.  This was theirs; it didn’t belong to a member of Syco, to a manager, to a family member - it belonged to Harry and Louis, and to them alone.“Lou,” he croaked.  “You bought me a  _house._ You bought me a fucking  _house,_ ” He laughed, half-way hysterical as he gripped the ends of his hair in his fingers.  

“Not a house,” Louis mumbled modestly, toeing the new floor. “A condo, actually. Nothing big, or anything. Just the one level, so.” 

“I—it doesn’t mat—Louis—a” Harry stuttered, not quite believing that Louis was trying to discredit this, this thing he’d done for  _him_. “How the hell did you _do_ this?”

“To be honest, I didn’t really do anything,” Louis admitted sheepishly, still perching anxiously on his toes, waiting for Harry’s approval.  “I told Simon that we hadn’t found anywhere to live in London, and management called me the next day, asking me how they could help.”

“And…” Harry struggled, “And they just…  _Found_ this?”

“Apparently, they recommend this place to a lot of their clients.  I think Katie is going to make an offer on a flat upstairs, and Niall’s going to live just a few doors down.”  

This was quite a lot of information that was coming at him very quickly, and Harry found his mouth hanging open again as he leaned forward to put a hand on the smooth countertop.  

“You’ve got to be kidding, Lou,” he said weakly.  “I… We  _live_ here!  We live here,” he deadpanned, eyes wide, and Louis brightened slightly, the smile on his mouth growing a little more hopeful.  “And… And Niall, and…” He sputtered for a few good moments before managing to wrap his mouth around a coherent question.  “What about Zayn and Li?  Are they here too?”

“Nah, Zayn’s moving into a building downtown.  I guess he’s got a mate there renting a flat.  And Liam hasn’t found a place yet, but he said he wanted to live in Sutton, if he can, so I don’t think he’ll move in here.” Louis shrugged.  “But Niall closed on his flat a couple of weeks before I did.  It’s all been very quick, you see.”

“I see,” Harry murmured, shaking his head as if he’d been bothered by a fly. 

“Do…” Louis said, shuffling shyly over the wood, “Do you, like, wanna see the rest of the flat?  I mean, I know I kind of dumped this on you.  Sorry about that.”

“No, I,” Harry said slowly.  He just needed to catch himself up, to wrap his head around this.  “I want to.  See it, I mean.  You’ve gone to all this trouble…”

“No trouble,” Louis mumbled, ears red, and with a giddy grin he beckoned for Harry to follow him out of the kitchen.  

He showed him the hall toilet, the sunroom, the den (“We’ll be having quite a lot of  _Friends_ marathons in here, I can tell you that, Harold”), the guest room, the  _other_ hall toilet, the  _other_ guest room, and the game room (Louis had gotten particularly excited here) before finally dragging Harry to halt outside a set of tall doors in a remote corner of the flat.  

“Here we are,” he said, slightly out of breath as he put a small hand on the knob.

“What?” Harry asked, cheeks flushed and eyes bright as they darted from room to room of their home.  “You’re not going to tell me we’ve a pool, are you?”

“Nah, that’s… downstairs, I think.  Public, too,” Louis shook his head vaguely, tossing Harry a rosy smile over his shoulder as he opened the door with what was truthfully quite an obnoxious flourish.  He cringed as the knob hit the wall on the other side, and Harry rolled his eyes to Louis’ sheepish shrug.  It wasn’t until he blinked and stepped forward that he realised they were in a bedroom, and a stunning one at that.  

The room itself was round, cradling a suede settee the colour of rosemary, a collection of wooded furniture scattered about the floor and housing a lamp, a small television, and Louis’ ratty old suitcase, and a big bed so low to the ground that the sheets touched the pale plush carpet.  Throwing light over the dark cherry and soft green were gorgeous windows turnt toward the flat garden below.  

“This is incredible,” Harry croaked.  “It’s… is it—”

“My room, yeah,” Louis chirped, positively preening as he rocked back and forth onto his toes.  He seemed to be lot more lively now that he knew Harry wouldn’t run for the hills with the knowledge that Louis had purchased themselves property without his consent.   “It’s quite me, innit?”

“Very,” Harry smiled, eyes soft as they darted from the different shades of green spotting the room to the torn espadrilles lying haphazardly in the middle of the floor.  Sending Louis a guilty grimace, he stooped to pick them up and line them neatly against the wall.  He heard his scoff but caught his fond simper, a second sooner than Louis had been able to hide it, and the older of the two huffed stubbornly before plopping down onto his new bed.  As he ran his palms happily over the white slip, Harry followed, sinking into the fabric with a grunt.  

He heard Louis snicker, and suddenly Harry realised he was eye to eye with his own kneecaps as he planted his feet on the floor.  

“Jesus, Lou,” He exclaimed, feeling suddenly like he was sitting in a toddler’s chair, “How low did you need the bed to be?”

“We can’t all have noodles for legs, you freak,” Louis affectionately flicked Harry’s calf, and Harry whined, indignant.  

“Maybe you’re the freak,” he pouted, pushing his lower lip forward and scowling heavily.  “Short stuff.”  It was the best he could do, and Louis didn’t seem able to warrant that with anything more than a snort before he rose again, tugging Harry to his feet and toward the door.

“C’mon, Pasta Mista al Dente,” Louis lead him to the last door of the corridor, “I haven’t shown you your room yet.”  

“Is it as extravagant as the queen’s itself?” Harry grinned, stumbling slightly as Louis yanked him to a stop and wrapped his fingers around the brass doorknob.  Louis only scoffed, sticking his nose as high into the air as he could (tippy-toes included) and answered with, “Harold, don’t be greedy,” before pushing the door open.  

The first thing Harry noticed about the room was that is was very different from “the queen’s,” so to speak, but no less lavish.  It was rectangular rather than round, and everything was decidedly duller.  The simple cherry bedframe sat pushed against a soft wall that reminded Harry of the worn pages of a book, and the floor was lined with regal pieces of furniture that would have otherwise looked like they’d been found in a thrift shoppe.  Little bits of faded blue and grey could be found in different things - lining the thin silk of the curtains or the hem of the bed linens, upholstering the sunny window seat niching the east wall, running the length of the creamy crown molding across the ceiling, etching the place into something warm and pretty.  It was absolutely wonderful.

“What do you think?” Louis asked brightly.  “M’no interior decorator, but the agent asked me what you’d like, and I just… I couldn’t ask you without giving this away, y’know?  So I gave it my best,” he shrugged modestly, eyes roaming the room with interest.  “I didn’t think it was too bad,” he added anxiously, and Harry pretended not to notice the fleeting look he shot him from the corner of his eye.

“ _You_ did this?” Harry gaped, eyes wide and mouth moving over unspoken expletives as his stare hopped from the little nightstand to the narrow bookshelf, already filled to the top with some of Harry’s very favourites, to the thick, pale blankets draped carefully over the back of the sectional wedged cosily in the corner, and something rushed warm and soft into his chest, something a lot like the tidal wave he’d felt in the kitchen.  “Lou, I…  _Fuck,_ ” he whispered.  “This is amazing.  Thank you,” he turned, eyes round and mouth ajar, and he caught the edge of Louis’ sleeve over his forefinger.  “Thank you, Lou, thank you… thank,” 

“Stop that, it was nothing,” Louis muttered, cheeks turning very, very red as he stared adamantly at the laces of his shoes.  “Like… I wanted to, y’know?”

“Yeah?” Harry breathed. He thought, after seeing so much of this incredible place, that he might have somehow gotten back his bearings, but seeing this, knowing Louis had gone to so much effort just for  _him,_ for this house that would belong to the two of them - well, Harry was suddenly having a very hard time remembering the English language. 

“Yeah,” Louis smiled.  “I mean, look here.  I’ve gotten you a study, cause you’re a nerd, obviously, so you can read and write privately, if you like.  It’ll be good for when we begin writing music, won’t it?  And here, I saw this window seat and thought it was perfect, because like, you need somewhere to sit and gaze pretentiously out over the failed institution of society and plot your next indie poem, yeah?  I wasn’t sure about the television, because I know you don’t watch it much, but—”

“Hush,” Harry said gently, overcoming his temporarily paralysis and touching Louis’ shoulder.  “It’s absolutely  _incredible,_ Louis.  No one could have done any better.”

“Really?” Louis mewled, looking timidly up at him.  “You really think it’s okay?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry shook his head.  “C’mere.”  He tugged Louis tight against his chest, running his arms over his small of his back, and he felt the shy bite of Louis’ smile press into his shoulder.  Harry’s heart was beating much too quickly; they’d be  _living_ together, the two of them in their own home, their own quiet sanctuary away from judgmental eyes, from curious glances, from the whispered warnings of Simon.  This was theirs.  This, there,  _them -_ it was Harry’s.

“Thank God,” Louis laughed, mouth moving over Harry’s shirt.  He’d long since forgotten about the coffee sticking to his tummy.  “Worried you’d slap me cross the face and storm off, saying the wallpaper didn’t match the sofa or summat.”

“This close,” Harry murmured into his temple, and Louis gasped, outrage plain on his face as he pushed himself away.  

“How very  _dare_ you, sir!” he cried.  “Why, for that, you’re out of the bathroom for the week.”

“What bathroom?” Harry preened innocently, tucking his hands behind his back.  “You haven’t shown me any bathroom, Louis.  What am I to expect?”

“You are so fucking annoying,” Louis grumbled, grabbing Harry’s wrist and dragging him across the room toward a pair of white doors Harry hadn’t noticed before.  Beyond the first was, as promised, a lovely bathroom, complete with no less than a jetted tub and steam shower, lined with small modern tile the colour of charcoal (“See what you’ll be missing for the next seven days, Harold?”).

Through the second door was a roomy closet, and Harry sighed with relief to see his suitcase sitting on one of the pale shelves.  He shooed Louis back into his bedroom while he folded his coffee-stained flannel into his bag and changed into a soft hoodie.  When he stepped out of the closet once more, he found Louis lying spread-eagled on his bed.

“This is actually quite lovely,” He was saying to the ceiling, running his arms and legs over the slip like he was making a snow angel.  It was absolutely not endearing in the slightest.  Harry kept his chin tucked tightly into his chest as he wandered across the floor and sunk into the soft sheets beside Louis’ left foot.  It felt a little strange, sitting on this bed, digging his toes into the soft rug at his feet - like he was intruding.  It was very hard to believe that all this luxury belonged to him.  

In the space of a year he’d gone from living in a dingy, seventy-square-metre split-level in the middle of pastoral Cheshire to becoming the owner of a penthouse that must have been worth more than what Harry’s mother would ever make in her lifetime.  It was suddenly hitting him very quickly just how much had changed in less than twelve months; twelve months ago, he’d never set foot in Wembley stadium.  He’d never been a part of One Direction, he’d never had enough money to buy anything more than a second-hand pair of smart shoes for his audition, he’d never been on an airplane.  He’d never been on television, he’d never left the country, he’d never met a celebrity.  He’d never known the boys, never known Louis.  

“I can’t believe this is happening,” the thoughts left his mouth, and he heard Louis’ breath catch lucidly in his chest as he turned, smiling giddily up at Harry. 

“You couldn’t believe avocados were fruit, either, remember?” He raised a sly eyebrow.

“Don’t you  _dare,”_ Harry squawked, kicking him in the thigh. “You know how confusing the avocado is, Lou. How can you call that thing a  _seed,_ for Christ sakes, it’s half the size of me hand! And the insides look  _nothing_ like—” He cut himself off with a scowl as Louis began to howl with laughter, clutching at his sides and letting his chin tip back toward the lights hanging overhead.  

“Jesus Christ, maybe I should rethink this,” Louis giggled, face going pink with chortles, and Harry huffed, trying very hard to keep a threatening smile off of his face.  “Why do I admit we’re friends?”

And with that, something chilly fell over the room, stopping Louis’ chuckles in their tracks and letting them trail quickly into silence.  Harry’s eye fell solidly on the twisting fingers in his lap. 

_Friends._  The thing was, he knew the two of them had agreed upon this, upon this label for their relationship, and he supposed it was reasonable - of course it was. But even before he’d developed feelings for Louis, he’d never really considered their friendship to be quite normal.  But now, when that strange dynamic, those forbidden feelings were to be swept under the rug with a pat and hush, what else could they possibly  _be_? If they couldn’t be with one another romantically, they needed to find some way to maintain this bond platonically.  They needed to establish a line, an unspoken boundary that they could not cross, no matter how many times they’d crossed it in the past.  Yes, “Friends” was their only option.  

But this was okay, right?  Friends cared for each other.  Friends liked one another, and were close to one another.  Friends could be close like this, couldn't they?  They  _had_  to be close like this, because Harry honestly did not know what he would do without his Louis.   _No_ , he corrected himself.  _Not my Louis anymore_.  Just Louis.  Just…Just Louis, and just Harry… 

He could be okay with that, couldn’t he?  He could live with that. 

…He had to live with that.  He didn't have a choice.

He blinked as Louis smiled, suddenly looking very tired as he stared back at Harry.

"Whatever," Louis said, a weak chuckled falling from his mouth. "You know you're proud to have me as your  _friend_ ," He continued, heavily emphasising the last word, and Harry nodded vigorously, brow furrowed.

"Right," He said, voice sounding very strange all of a sudden.  "I love having you as a  _friend_."

Louis’ eyes darted around the room, looking at anything but Harry and then nothing but Harry, up and down, uncomfortable…

Sometimes, it was impossibly hard.  He had his moments, of course, where Louis wondered why the hell the two of them had ever listened to Simon, why they hadn’t arranged some sort of cover for their relationship, or why they hadn’t just ignored their mentor completely and done as they pleased.  They came often and in powerful bursts of taunting and teasing, like when the boys had been admiring the pod of whales off the coast of England and Harry had said, “ _Whale, whale, whale, what do we have here?”_  or when he’d tripped over his own feet in the studio kitchen and landed face first in a bowl of icing.  Louis could remember him blinking, eyes wide with shock as he sputtered through the pink goo, hands hanging bewilderedly by his sides.  Louis didn’t think he’d ever laughed harder, or wanted to kiss him so badly. 

It was hardest whenever they came across younger fans, little children with faces like Louis’ sisters who wanted nothing more than to cling to Harry’s arms, Harry’s legs, Harry’s hips, and Harry loved this, loved playing with the kids he met.  On those days, Louis would be sure to keep himself especially busy, so as not to have to watch him for too long.  It was too difficult, seeing Harry cuddle infants to his chest, seeing him high-five boys that couldn’t have reached Louis’ knees, seeing him tell little girls that he liked their tiaras, liked their sparkly nail polish, that he wished he had the same - to let himself Imagine what might— _might_ —have been, had it not been for the stupid contract.  No, it was far too difficult. 

It wasn’t any easier for Harry.  Over the months he’d gotten better and better at ignoring the little things about Louis that had him white and warm with panic, had him wanting to cut off stage and knock on Simon’s door with shouts of  _“I change my mind, I change my mind, I don’t think I can do this.”_ It wasn’t a skill he was particularly proud of developing, but using it was certainly much better than letting himself feel every hit Louis unknowingly delivered by just being  _Louis,_ by trailing off nervously with each soft solo, by giggling like a three-year-old as he threw popcorn at the sound engineers from behind a curtain, by smiling the way he did whenever he spoke to his sisters over the phone.  It  _sucked._ It really fucking sucked, but Harry lived for the moments he could high-five Louis whenever the beat Niall and Liam in FIFA, for the silly faces he pulled at him during dress rehearsals, for the way he danced through this flat, tugging Harry behind him as he basked in their new home together.  

Friendship was their only option, and it was a better option than most.

“Yes,  _friends_ ,” he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, tongue rolling as if to taste the word in his mouth, bitter.  “Friends,” he confirmed again with a wide smile, despite the snakes writhing in his stomach, working their way up his throat, hissing,  _No, no, that’s not what I want, I want you, I want all of you_. “Friends is good.”

“Friends.   We’re  _friends_.  Close friends,” Harry said, his own eyes round and lips parted as he tested the term with uncertainty.  

"Best friends," Louis added, nose wrinkling.  The word was beginning to taste funny in their mouths.

Suddenly, the two of them could not stop giggling; they just sounded so ridiculous.  They rolled over on the huge mattress, fits of laughter catching in their chests and filling the spacious room, and when Louis finally sat up, he wiped a tear of mirth from his eye, sighing fondly.  It was easier this way.  It was easier to laugh and to giggle about the situation, rather than to acknowledge the fact that it really fucking sucked.

“Oh, look at us,” Louis sighed, grin fading slowly on his face as he stretched his limbs wide, trying to take up as much space as he could.  He laughed when his knee knocked into the side of Harry’s head, and Harry pouted, rubbing his temple.

“When I stop seeing stars, I will,” he grumbled, and Louis smiled, fingers absentmindedly running circles over the blankets.  The two were quiet for many long moments, blinking and soft and warm and tired after their long tour, slowly coming to grips with the idea of  _their_ home, of living together in a house.

“Lou,” Harry said abruptly, as the reality hit him for the fifth time since stepping through the door, “This is our home. We live here.”

“You catch on quick, don’t you?” Louis cocked a thin eyebrow, and Harry pushed a giggle into his palm, humming.  “I’ll have to be honest,” He admitted, sending Harry a fleeting glance.  “I was kind of worried that you’d… you know, be upset that I… I bought us a house?  Like, without telling you?  I mean, that’s kind of a shitty thing to do, right? Wouldn’t most people say that’s a dick move?”

“Stop that,” Harry said earnestly, “Lou, you bought me a fucking  _house,_ I don’t know how that could ever be a dick move.  You don’t need to worry about things like that, you know that.  This is me, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” Louis said, nodding.  “I just… I guess I want to make sure that this is okay, like, all of this.  Please, don’t say you like it to spare my feelings, I swear, it’s fine if you don’t.”

“Louis, you’re completely off it, mate,” Harry rolled his eyes, “You know me better than that, and you  _should_ know that this… this  _flat…_ ” He shook his head, exhaling.  “Jesus Christ, Lou.  I can’t believe you think I wouldn’t be happy about this.”

“Well, I mean,” Louis pled quickly, trying to explain himself, “I just, I did it because… Like, you know, I just thought, like, since we have to work in London, and like, I’m two hours away and you’re two and half, so I figured… I mean, we’d have to move up here sometime…” he trailed off,  gaze focused very hard on the popcorn ceiling overhead.  

“Shut up, Lou,” Harry interrupted him kindly, nudging his wrist with a forefinger.  “You don’t need to explain yourself to me.  This is fantastic.  I promise, I love it.” He hesitated, “What… what made you decide? Like, on this? We never really discussed it much.”  Louis was quiet for a long moment before he finally turned, looking shyly up at Harry beside him.  He dug his heel into the duvet, wriggling his socked toes.

“It was never really a decision,” He admitted slowly, “I mean, living together in the X House for so long… I dunno.  I guess I just thought that, even after the show ended, we’d… Especially when we were…” It was almost funny how quickly the two of them blushed, jaws clenching and cheeks turning red.  Except, it really wasn’t. 

“Yeah,” Harry said quickly, voice cracking. 

“And…” Louis hurried, swallowing.  “I know how afraid you were of being on your own for the first time.  Little baby boy,” He added, eyes twinkling, and Harry laughed, relieved that the tension was dripping away again.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry snorted.  “Because I’m the  _only_ one who’s never lived alone before. Sure this is all about me, Boo?”  Louis sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Course it’s not,” he said quietly.  “Honestly, I’ve never spent a night alone in my life.  At home, I’d always have at least one of my sisters there, you know?  Or I’d stay with a friend.  And then we were in the X House with the others for all those months, and during the tour, I was with you, you know? It’s just… I dunno.” He felt Harry’s finger hot on his wrist.  “It just made sense.  We both have to work in London, neither of us want to live by ourselves, and… we’re… _Us._   I mean, it goes without saying that we’d do something like this, wouldn’t it?”

_Without saying,_ Harry wanted to agree.  He was silent instead, thumbnail tracing crescents into Louis’ skin. “What do you mean, ‘we’re us?’” He asked quietly, and from beside him he heard Louis sigh.  They both knew that Harry understood perfectly well what Louis meant, and they both knew Harry was only asking for the sake of hearing the answer.  It seemed to take Louis quite a long time to give it to him.

“It’s you and me, innit?” Louis quoted, smile twitching at his lips, and Harry grinned, letting his eyes fall shut.  “You know.  Never liked to be away from you.  It’s always been like that.”  Harry opened his eyes again.

_It’s always been like that,_ Louis’s quiet way of letting him know where they were, what they had to be.  

“Yeah,” he said gently.  “Like you said, it makes sense.  Especially since all the others are finding places by themselves, yeah?  And, like, who else would we live with?  Not like we’ve got anyone to shack up with in the middle of London.”  _Why are you looking for excuses?_ A voice was chiding in his head,  _You’re not supposed to_ need  _excuses.  This is you and Lou._

“Exactly,” Louis smiled.  “And even if we had, I don’t know anyone else who’d make me eggs every morning, or pick up my dirty socks for me.”

“What!” Harry squawked, indignation written all over his face.  “Hold on!  I never agreed to this!”

“Like you’d ever say no,” Louis rolled his eyes, and suddenly Harry didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or to cry.  

“Hey,” Louis said suddenly, turning to look him in the eye. His voice had dropped, softer and lower as his cheek pressed tight into the warm blankets.  “I’m glad it’s you, you know?  I don't think I could live long with Niall before I was sulfated by the smell.”

“You wouldn’t,” Harry agreed, and Louis giggled loudly, pressing his grin into the sheets. “I’m glad too,” Harry said, trying hard not to look at Louis, with his tiny fingers and his light eyelashes and his hair falling in a mess across his forehead… “That it’s you.”

“Thanks,” Louis whispered after what felt like a very long time.  “For.. staying with me.  I’ve never known how to be alone, Harry.”

“You’ll never have to,” Harry promised.

Louis didn’t look too far into it.

 

⤞✧⤝


End file.
